Strawberry Wine
by PaperFrames
Summary: /It's the summer of 1984 and 16 year-old Olivia Benson is spending it on the Jersey coast with her mother. Her hair is long, her shorts short, and her thoughts yet to be tainted by a dark world. She has all the reason in the world to smile; she's young, beautiful, & intelligent. But not all is as rosy as it seems. / Teen trope. Summer love. EO pairing. Semi canon compliant.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is an AU Bensler Teen Romance – something I told myself I'd never write, but this plot bunny popped into my head and now it won't leave. This story is set in July of 1984, so there will be lots of 80s references. Now, I'm a 90s child, so if I got a reference wrong, please let me know! Google only goes so far.

I have two other stories under SVU that I need to update, and so naturally I chose to start a new one, just note that if you're following those two-shots (one EO & Bensidy), I haven't forgotten them! I'm also working on a new AO piece, too.

So for this fic, these are how the ages are going to break down: Elliot is 19, Kathy is also 18/19, and Olivia is 16. Baby Maureen is one. Yes Kathy and Elliot are her parents – no they are no married. Kathy will factor into the story, however. Also, I only gave Elliot two siblings instead of the canon 7 since the show never really mentioned anyone aside from a brother.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, as per usual.

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><p>Chap 1: A Summer Getaway<p>

Legs crossed at the knee and a look of frustration painted across her countenance, Olivia Benson fidgets in the passenger's seat of her mother's 83' BMW E30. All of her attempts at comfort have been fraught for not; no matter how many times she yanks on the hem of her acid wash cutoffs, the material doesn't straighten; instead it heads north, leaving the young brunette in even more discomfort than before.

The two-hour ride from Manhattan to New Jersey had seemed much more exciting under the pretense she'd be able to covet the prestigious position of driver. Not to mention the pretext that her mother wouldn't send her back to the 1700s with her choice in music to fill the silence. It'd been 93 minutes of endless concertos and symphonies; the music of Bach and Beethoven drowning out any attempts Olivia made to be intimate with her own thoughts.

One thought in particular that seemed to be streaming through her head is why Serena Benson insisted that Bach and Beethoven kept her calm whilst driving. The shrill screech of the string instruments and the intruding clangs of the percussion sections caused a feeling of anxiety to seep into Olivia. She much preferred the soft crooning of Janis Joplin calling for the good ole' summer time, or Jimi Hendrix excusing himself to kiss the sky; all music Olivia knew that her mother owned. It was true, Serena Benson owned an extensive 60s rock and roll collection.

But Olivia took what she could get. If old dead guys in bad wigs kept her mom calm whilst driving, then she could deal. Olivia knew the other manner in which her mother kept calm; it came in bottles of all different shapes, colours, and sizes and left a demon in its wake.

"I thought I was going to get a chance to drive?" Olivia questions, struggling to be heard over the wave of instruments seeping from the radio. Haplessly she tugs at the hem of her shorts once more; again to no avail.

"And I thought I told you to wear clothes?" Her mother counters, her blue eyes flitting to Olivia's bare, bronze legs.

"They are clothes; it's 96 degrees, Mom. What do you want me to wear, a nun's habit?"

"You know that's not what I mean, Olivia, but you have to be careful with what you wear. You're a very beautiful girl, with a woman's body, and you live in a world full of wolves. You don't want to attract the wrong attention, do you?"

A sullen look passes across the young brunette's face as she nodds knowingly; the unsaid hangs between the mother and daughter pair as Serena Benson hits her right turn signal and exits the interstate.

/

Twenty minutes later Olivia Benson is in the driver's seat, and she smiles brightly as she slips a tape into the tape deck of her mother's car. She's only had her driver's license for two months, and living in Manhattan afforded her little to no time to practice.

"Eyes on the road, Olivia; the radio isn't going anywhere – not to mention we're only a few miles away from the house." Serena's voice warns.

Only half listening to her mother's words, Olivia nods, and then hits play. The sound of Prince cooing about a little red corvette filters through the air.

"Why you children insist on listening to this man scream and moan his way through a song, I'll never know," with a slight grin, Serena jests and Olivia notices that a smile is tugging at her mother's mouth. The young girl warms at the sight, happy that the mood between them is light and teasing. It was a nice contrast against the constant digs and criticism that the two usually exchange like currency. Someone was always on edge at the Benson home; rarely did they approach each other with anything other than wariness, defenses always at the ready.

"Take a left at the next light, and its straight down from there."

Laughter, uninhibited laughter flits from Olivia's lips as she considers her mother's words in regards to one of her favourite musical artist. "Oh right because Prince's screeching is any different from Janis Joplin's wailing?" She counters, with an eyebrow raised above her aviator specs as she follows her mother's directions.

She'll never tell her mother, but she lives for moments like this: Moments where they're mother and daughter and not forced fate and cold concrete, an unsolicited gift and a horrid circumstance. Olivia takes what she can get because she wants a mother - her mother, but rarely gets to have her.

"This town better have a cinema, too. We're going to be here for three weeks and I'd rather not miss Purple Rain – Abbie will never let me live it down."

"You mean that brunette with the southern accent you hang around with?" Serena inquires and Olivia nods, her dark brown locks falling from the clip that pins the strands to her head and off her neck.

"That'd be her. We were supposed to go together until you told me we'd be spending your vacation here." Olivia responds as she signals her left blinker and turns, heading down a paved path that leads to a row of houses. As she does so, she hums along with the song for a moment before breaking out in full voice at her favourite part.

"_A body like yours oughta be in jail/ 'Cause it's on the verge of bein' obscene/ Move over,/ baby, gimme the keys/ I'm gonna try to tame your little red love machine_ . . ."

"You'll never make it on broad way with that voice. Now, our house is two to the left, that driveway there," The teasing continues as Serena points to one of the smaller houses that stands about twenty feet from it's nearest neighbor.

Olivia's brown eyes follow her mother's pointing finger to a driveway, located to the left of a baby blue house – the house she'd be spending the next three weeks calling home. She pulls into the driveway and cuts the ignition.

Taking her hair from clip she brushes it out with her fingers before pinning it back in place, and adjusting her too big sunglasses over the bridge of her nose. With a yawn she stretches in her chair, her long legs hit the gas and break pedals and she proudly declares "Here!" Although she'd only driven the last seven miles, pride courses through her veins; she's a driver now (if a seven mile drive could really constitute her as being one).

Serena's brows furrow together as she sticks a manicured hand inside her oversized black back and she digs around for the keys. "Let me "Let me just find the keys and we can get our stuff inside," she says and Olivia nods. "Its somewhere in here, on a silver ring." Serena mutters more so to herself, and Olivia nods again, her eyes catch a gleam of blue and she gets out of the car.

"I'm gonna go check the beach out, yell when you find them." She shouts through the opened driver's side window and stretches, yanking on her shorts and straightening her tank top as it rises up her stomach. Her flip-flops sound against the ground as she makes her way through the gate that separates the driveway from the beach.

As soon as she's through the threshold, the smell of salt water and sand fills her nostrils. The burning sun beats down against her olive skin causing her pace to slow. She feels heavy, but somewhat free and languid as she shuffles along the hot sand. Her eyes glance down to the water and she watches as the tide ebbs and flows against the edge of the weight sand. The water is bright and blue as she sunlight dances off its surface in waves, causing the ocean to shimmer like a fresh cut diamond placed under direct light. The entire scene causes Olivia's breath to still.

_It's beautiful_. She repeats to herself and for the first time possibly ever, she contemplates just how lucky of a hand fate has dealt her. For what seems like the hundredth time today, she smiles, a rare fete indeed.

She considers the prospects of spending three weeks here, in paradise; with a mother she knows little about, and thinks that maybe this won't be too bad.

A masculine voice breaks her from her reverie and she turns at the sound, shoving her slipping sunglasses against the bridge of her nose. "You must be Miss Benson."

Her brown eyes flit across the stranger's face as she scrutinizes his appearance with the eye of a detective, taking note of his large build, his formal stance, and blue eyes. His knuckles are scared and his got a bit of stubble on his chin; he's probably in his late forties to early fifties, and she can tell he's tired. Not the tired where a nap would solve everything, but the type of tired where your bones ache and mental exhaustion is a given every day. Regardless, Olivia doesn't think she knows him.

Her lips part to speak, to ask the man how he knows her, but before the first syllable falls from her tongue, Serena charges towards them, the bottom of her dark blue dress slacks covered in sand. She grabs Olivia by her wrist and places her own body between Olivia and the stranger. In her hands she's holding the keys to unlocking the house.

"Olivia." Serena states flatly, and Olivia watches as her mother's normally calm light blue eyes become dark, as if storm clouds have rolled in. Serena Benson is a lioness ready to pounce on anyone approaching her cub. "Go back to the car and get our stuff in the house."

"Mom, he - " Olivia begins, searching for a way to protest what she deems as an overreaction on her mother's end, a reaction she'd seen countless times before. Any time, in particular, that a man had the audacity to approach her within her mother's eye-line.

Once, when she'd accompanied her mother to a late night lecture, one of Serena's students had asked her for coffee afterwards. Catching sight of the exchange, Serena threated to have the boy thrown from the university if he ever approached her daughter again.

It was frustrating and embarrassing to the young woman who'd quickly gained the marker as outcast in school. Boys were afraid to approach her for fear of Serena.

The raises his arms in front of him to signal peaceful intentions, and Olivia figures that he's caught sight of Serena's defensive position and darkened eyes. "Woah, Ma'am, I meant no harm," the man grates, his Brooklyn accent thick, and Olivia smiles. She'd always been fond of Brooklyn accents and it was nice to see more New Yorkers in New Jersey.

"I'm Joseph Stabler, my wife Bernie and I are renting the house three doors down with our kids. Just wanted to introduce myself since Bernie's . . . uh, taking a nap. I know the owner of your house – Sal, he said the woman coming up had a daughter; just wanted to let her – and you know that there were other kids for her to be around. Got two boys and a girl. Elliot, Ethan, and Elizabeth."

Other children? The mere thought causes Olivia to smile. It wasn't often that she got to spend her time with other kids her age. Abbie was just about her only friend, if she didn't count her mother's many colleagues that seemed quite fond of the young girl who had a pension for quoting James Baldwin, T.S Elliot, and Sylvia Plath.

In front of her, Serena's stance slackens and Olivia can see the wheels in her mother's head turn as the older woman attempts to read the stranger as friend or foe. "I'm Serena Benson, and this is Olivia. We were just hoping to spend a quiet couple of weeks as a family."

"Mr. Benson's not joining you?" Joseph Stabler questions, and Olivia is certain that the temperature drops at least thirty degrees at the stranger's seemingly harmless question.

Olivia didn't have a father, as far as both she and Serena were concerned. Sure a man had fathered her, if you could call it that, but a father and husband implied much more than biology.

"There is no Mr. Benson." Serena snaps, and her voice signals that the topic is closed; no more questions were to be asked on the subject.

"And this is why I usually let Bernie do these things," he chuckled awkwardly, nodding in understanding. "Well, if you two change your minds, I'm right down the way. We're having a barbeque on Friday. Drinks and food, you're both more than welcome to come. You can meet my wife and she can help me remove my foot from my mouth. Don't hesitate to stop by at any time. Bernie's always looking for another woman to gab with."

There mere thought of Serena and another woman, a woman possibly not well versed in academia who quite possibly spent all day and night catering to three children, having a conversation almost made Olivia laugh. What would they discuss? Aphra Behn and broccoli? Serena Benson had the tendency to be a bit of an intellectual snob, if you asked her daughter.

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Stabler."

A smile crosses Joseph's lips and he nods at the two women. "Mrs – Ms. Benson, Olivia."

Olivia nods back and watches as he walks away, taking note of which house he finally stops at. She shakes her wrist as she feels her mother's nails dig into her flesh causing Serena to relinquish her hold. Once her mother's vice grip is gone, Olivia takes a few steps back, her mind flitting back to Mr. Stabler's children: _Elliot, Ethan, and Elizabeth_; she'd always wanted a sibling, a little brother to terrorize; a little sister to coddle.

"Here are the keys, Olivia, go get our stuff." Serena tosses the keys, and with little to no effort Olivia – and barely paying attention, Olivia catches the keys in her right hand.

She fiddles with the ring for a second, listening as the metal jostles together. Gnawing at her lip she glances down at the sand and then back up at Serena. She desperately wants to ask if they'll actually attend the barbecue, but contemplates pushing her mother's buttons. The ride had been so nice, and they'd actually enjoyed one another's company. Should she push it?

"Can we go Friday, Mom – to the barbeque, please?"

Serena's brows raise and Olivia smiles an innocent smile that, given the right conditions usually caused her mom to cave. She silently hopes that the conditions are right.

"Let's get settled first, please – then I'll decide. I'd wanted to get a jump on my lesson plans. . ."

"But we came here so that you could get away from work," protests Olivia and she lifts her glasses away from her eyes, staring at her mother.

"Just get our things inside, and I'll consider it." The young girl takes note of the tone of her mother's voice, the tone that said 'this conversation is over' and purses her lips.

She nods, and jingles the keys in hand and heads back towards the car. She pops the trunk and begins pulling out bags, as a passerby on a bike whistles at her, and then shouts "bend over again baby!"

"And put some clothes on, too, Olivia." Serena chides as she eyes the man with contempt. She reaches into the trunk, next to Olivia and Olivia watches as she grabs a brown tote. Bottles clang together as she does so, and Olivia nods again. The sound doesn't miss Olivia's ears and she takes a deep breath.

_You promised_, Olivia mentally reminds her mother, as she whispers a quiet "Okay, Mom." Serena grabs the keys from her hand and heads inside.

Three weeks. It was going to be an interesting three weeks.

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><p><strong>Loved it, hated it? Let me know!<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So if you read the first chapter of this before about five o'clock today, I ask that you re-read it before you read this. I edited that chapter and changed my writing style. I re-read the piece this morning and hated it, so I had to do something. Thanks for all your favs and alerts, but if you like it/ hate it (and please provide legitimate criticism why) that much, let me know in a review, please! Reviews are inspiration, inspiration is updates!

Once again, this is an AU Teen Trope Fic set in the 80s, so there's lots of 80 references especially pop culture wise.

Also, I asked in my last A/N, but I doubt anyone saw. If anyone knows of any awesome 80s songs I can reference, please let me know! I'm just to incorporate song titles/songs and some times the lyrics themselves into each chapter. While I own a lot of 80s music, there's always opportunity to find something i've never heard before. Thanks and enjoy! I haven't updated in one day in forever.

All mistakes belong to me sadly. My beta doesn't get home until Sunday night!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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><p>Chap 2: Best Friends and Nice Surprises<p>

_(Two Days Later)_

The sun splits the sky in half and purple bleeds into a golden yellow as the sun begins to set. Olivia sits on the front porch of the rented beach house, nail polish in hand, and mouth slightly agape as she takes in the scenery. She's never quite had the opportunity to just watch the sky before. Skyscrapers and high-rises had the habit of blocking the already limited view of the sky that her bedroom window provided her.

"It's beautiful," she whispers into the night, setting the nail polish bottle down. Peace, she's never felt this quite at peace before. She glances down at her feet, admiring her handy work – midnight blue, wiggles her toes, and then stands.

"I like midnight blue, too!" A voice comments and Olivia jumps, her brown eyes searching for its owner; the voice is too light to be her mother's, or to belong to a man.

"Did someone say something?" she calls cautiously as she eyes the bushes in front of the porch.

"I said I like midnight blue, too!" A blonde girl with bright blue eyes, who Olivia pegs as no more than 12 years old, pops up from the side of the porch. Her smile stretches from ear to ear and Olivia smiles back. "It looks really pretty on you. You're really pretty, too. Your hair's so long. Are you Olivia?"

Her brows furrow together and confusion spreads across her face as she studies the young girl. It hits her then, Mr. Stabler, Friday – the barbecue she'd almost forgotten about.

"I am, and you must be . . ." she pauses for a second and searches the recesses of her mind. _Elliot, Ethan_, and . . . "Elizabeth!" Olivia announces and the little girl jumps up and down in glee. Before Olivia can say any more, the girl is climbing the stairs and marching over to her.

"Elliot calls me Lizzie, but I'm 11 – Lizzie is for little girls. You can call me Liz." The little girl's enthusiasm doesn't miss Olivia; she just simply nods and listens, a smile claiming her countenance as she determines that Elizabeth is adorable personified.

She also begins to wonder why Lizzie – Liz is on her front porch, alone, as the sun is setting. Unless she had notified her mother in advance, Olivia rarely ever just went somewhere without anyone noticing. Unless, Olivia considers, Elizabeth was sent by her father to wrangle in the two Bensons.

The wind stirs and Olivia's hair falls into her face; the sun's inching lower and lower under the horizon. She turns back to look behind her, glancing through the bay windows and into the house she sees Serena sitting on the couch, book in front of her, pen hanging from her lips, unaware of the scene in front of her, and then Olivia turns back to the little girl in front of her. "So, _Liz _what brings you to my door?"

"Well, Daddy said that Ms. Benson had a daughter, and I wanted to meet her; ask her to be my best friend and come to the barbecue!"

Endearing, Olivia thinks in regards to the young girl's offer of friendship. She's never been anybody's best friend, really. She's never let anyone really get that close to her before. Best friend's usually wanted to share secrets and some secrets Olivia just didn't feel like sharing. But she didn't really have to share with a child, so she gives in, playing the part.

"Me? Be _your_ best friend?" Olivia feigns shock, pretending to wipe tears from her eyes as she does so. "I'm honoured, Liz, and I'd love to be!"

Olivia doesn't expect the young girl's next actions and almost laughs as she feels tiny arms wrap around her legs, and a chin digs into her thigh.

"Great!" Liz responds, her grin Cheshire like. "I've never had a best friend before. There's Jessica, but she's mean to me some times. Promise you won't be mean to mean, Livvie?"

Slipping her hand through the young girl's blonde strands, and smiling, Olivia nods. "I've never had a best friend either, Liz. But you've got a deal. I promise I won't be mean to you."

"Or call me a cry baby?"

"Or call you a cry baby."

"You've gotta keep your promise, too, even after you meet my brothers. Dad says they're idiots. Ethan kind of is, but El's my protector. Well he was until he took Kathy away from me. She was really nice and she painted my nails. But she liked to leave with Elliot a lot."

She stands there and takes it all in, listening as Liz tells her all about her brothers, their likes and dislikes, along with her favourite songs and shows. The young girl chatters on and in roughly twenty minutes Olivia learns a lot. She learns that the young girl whose arms are still wrapped around her waist, likes to sing Cyndi Lauper's _Girl's Just Want to Have Fun_ and dress up in her mother's clothes. She also likes to bake and wants to make all the cupcakes in the world.

Olivia's so wrapped up in the little girl's ability to converse that she barely notices as an older blonde woman shuffles across the sand, calling out for an Elizabeth. It isn't until the girl let's go of her vice grip on Olivia that she takes note of the voice.

"I'm over here with Livvie, Mom! She's my new best friend. I was just trying to make her come to the barbecue but she says her mommy wouldn't want to!" Liz shouts and Olivia turns her head towards her house as she hears her name echo from inside. Serena Benson then emerges, the screen door banging shut as she comes to stand next to Olivia, a copy of Anne Sexton's 'Transformations' in hand.

"Whose child is this, Olivia?" Serena asks, but before Liv can answer the woman, whom Olivia can guess is Liz's mother climbs the porch stairs and grabs Elizabeth's hand.

"I'm so sorry about her, she's our little explorer and some times she goes off alone. I hope she wasn't too much of a bother."

"Not at all." Olivia responds, and she takes note of the woman's appearance. Her blonde hair is chin length, she's dressed in a flowing paisley skirt and white tank top, an orange scarf is tied around her neck, and her eyes are the colour of slate.

"Livvie is my best friend and her toes are midnight blue and she says that she won't be like Kathy!" Liz tells her mother; she shakes loose of the woman's hold and grabs Olivia's left hand and wraps her own around it. The move makes Olivia's heart melt.

"I'm sorry, what's going on?" Serena asks and Olivia can hear a hint of annoyance interlaced with confusion in her tone.

A chuckle leaves the woman's lips and she smiles. Olivia notices how her smile doesn't quite reach all the way to her eyes. "'I'm Bernadette – Bernie. You met my husband Joe the other day. He invited you both to our barbecue. Apparently when you didn't show he sent our recruiter here – Lizzie, to bother you."

"Ah, the man that approached my daughter?"

"That's him; he's an ass, not a sicko, though Ms. Benson, he didn't mean anything – is that Anne Sexton you're reading?"

Olivia glances at Bernie, a look of wonder crossing her face. She'd pegged Bernie as a simple housewife two days ago, but maybe she was more – maybe she was a teacher, or even a doctor.

"Call me Serena. You know Sexton's work?" questions Serena and Olivia finds herself wanting to know the answer, too.

"Of course! She's one of my favourite reads. '_All My Pretty Ones_' is my favorite poem, well if you don't count anything by T.S Elliot."

Serena Benson is impressed, Olivia can tell by the way the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly, a quirk that would go unnoticed by anyone else. To tell the truth, Olivia is impressed, too. When did a woman with three kids have any time to herself?

"I have his whole collection with me. Sexton's too! Want to come take a look? They're annotated – I'm a professor at Columbia, and I'm working on my lesson plans, but I'd love to talk some literature. I've got wine . . ."

Olivia's lips flatten, and purse together tightly as she listens to her mom's words. She didn't want Serena drinking anything, let alone wine, but she much rather deal with her mom after a few glasses of wine than a full pint of vodka.

"I shouldn't, I should get back to the barbecue, the food's done and I've gotta make the kid's plates and –"

"Livvie can help me make my plate, Momma! Ethan and Elliot are old, they don't need your help." Liz interrupts and Liv glances at the young girl, and then up at her mother. "You stay here with Ms. Benson, and Liv can come with me. I'll tell Daddy and he'll be fine. Please, Mommy. Please Ms. Benson."

Although she's flattered at Liz's request, Olivia doesn't think Serena will bite. Moments later she's pleasantly surprised, however when Serena nods, bits of her graying dark hair slipping from its chignon as she does so.

"Just be back by 10, and take a sweater with you." Serena adds, and Olivia looks down at her attire. She's wearing calf length black leggings and a pink race back tank top. She contemplates changing complete, but opts against it as she feels Liz squeeze her hand, shaking her from her reverie.

"Come on, Livvie, I'll help you pick a sweater!" And with that she's being dragged into the house, she faintly hears Bernie agree to stay, and then she's standing in front of her suitcase as Elizabeth sorts through it.

The young blonde hands Olivia an off the shoulder plain gray sweat-shirt and barely allots her time to pull it over her head and slip on her flip-flops. Olivia can feel the eagerness radiate off of Elizabeth as Liz entangles their hands once more, and leads her out of the house, into the darkening night, and down the beach.

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><p><em><strong>Up Next<strong>: Olivia meets Elliot Stabler and sparks fly, but not in the way you think._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** It's 1:30 AM and my insomnia is at an all time high. I should be working on my Spanish essay, but alas, this is what I did instead. Things are slow going for the moment, so bare with me. Things will pick up soon. Promise! Also, don't expect me to always update this fast. I just had most of the first five chapters already written/sketched out. Though to be honest once I read this i'll probably rewrite it, haha.

Remember, this is full of 80s references so google if you don't know. :)

**Reviews give me motivation & inspiration too! **

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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><p>Chap 3: When Harry Met Sally<p>

The sounds of Creedence Clearwater blast from the deck as Olivia follows behind an eager Liz; their hands clasped together still. The sun has all set and bounces off the earth in orange waves. Nervousness shakes Olivia and she can feel sand rub between her toes and stick to the bottom of her feet. She's never really been one to frequent social events. Not that many people invited her, either. Yes she was tall, tan, intelligent, and pretty, but aside from Abbie, she mostly kept to herself. She didn't like the personal questions and the nosey prodding.

"Daddy!" Liz yells, leading Olivia up the deck steps. The food is out on the table, but the inhabitants of the house seem to be missing. There's a light on in the house, but no one stirs inside. "Livvie is here!"

An awkward smile falls across Olivia's face at the sound of the nickname falling from the young girl's lips. Aside from Abbie, no one's ever given her a nickname before. Very rarely did her own mother call her anything other than Olivia.

"Dad!" Liz shouts again and the front door bangs open, a boy Olivia suspects to be around her age steps out. His hair is mussed; he's wearing stripped swimming shorts, and a muscle tank that reads 'Hollywood life.'

"Zip it squirt, Dad's on the phone with someone from the department. Said something about a girl missing."

Department, Olivia thinks, and she knows that her earlier suspicions about Mr. Stabler had been right – he's a cop, a Brooklyn cop. The idea entertainers her and she contemplates cornering Mr. Stabler later, asking him about his job and what it's like. She's yet to tell her mother, but she's considering law enforcement, maybe becoming a detective.

"Who's this?" The voice breaks through Olivia's thoughts and she looks up, grey eyes meet her brown ones and she smiles. Before she has a chance to respond Liz does.

"This is Olivia, she's my best friend. She likes midnight blue and I'm her first best friend. Mommy said that she could help me make my plate while she talks to Ms. Benson. Ms. Benson is Olivia's mommy. She's staying down the beach."

A small chuckle slips from Olivia's lips at Elizabeth's introduction and she nods. "I'm Olivia," she repeats and from beneath her eyelashes she studies him. He's kind of thin, and definitely young, but Olivia can tell he tries to play it off as if he's older. "You must be Elliot."

"Fuck no," he grates back, and Liv's brows furrow.

_Elliot, Ethan, Elizabeth _. . .

"El's off painting his nail's or something. I'm Ethan."

"Sorry. Its just - " Olivia starts as she fumbles with her words; it's an attempt to formulate an explanation as to why she's confused two people that she's never met.

"Come on, Livvie. Come see my room!" Liz pulls on her arm and Olivia just shrugs her shoulders in apology as the young girl leads her into the house.

Empty paint canvases sit on the dinning room table; atop the canvases sit a smock and a stack of brushes. There are drops of water on the wood floor giving it a warped look, and pictures line the wall. Olivia only gets a few moments to study the photos before Liz is yanking her in another direction. Her brown eyes catch sight of Mr. Stabler before she's completely pulled away, and her ears catch part of the conversation. He's telling whoever is on the other end that his wife will be back soon and not to call again.

She doesn't have to be a detective to know that he's not talking to someone from work.

/

Olivia sits cross-legged on the floor of Liz's bedroom while the young girl sits in front of her, a makeup kit in her tiny hands. She's brushing something across Olivia's cheeks and chattering away about a boy in her class that likes to pull her hair. Bonnie Raitt provides the soundtrack and from Liz's bedroom window Olivia can hear voices coming from the deck.

"Do you like boys, Livvie?" Liz asks and Olivia laughs.

"I do some times." _When my mother doesn't chase them away._

Liz shows her displeasure with a shake of the head and a scrunch of the nose, causing Olivia to laugh even more at the young girl's machinations. She considers if this is what it's always like having a little sister, not being the only child, the constant companionship and the endless questions.

"Yuck! They're gross and they touch you, and try to hold your hand or kiss you. Have you ever kissed a boy?"

Something between a sigh and a chuckle dances from Olivia's lips and she contemplates how to answer the question. Does she tell the eleven-year-old girl about the time she let a guy from her mother's freshman English course stick his tongue down her throat out of spite, almost causing her to gag at one point? Does she talk about the time that she kissed her mother's colleague because she thought that the older man had made overtures at her? Or does she tell the truth that she's never really been kissed before. Not like in the movies at least. Not like when Jake kissed Sam over her cake in _Sixteen Candles_.

"Not really," she settles on and a knock on the door causes her to jump. The door opens and Olivia turns to face the intruder.

He's tall, 6 feet at the least, with broad shoulders, and a large frame. His eyes are a bright blue, the same colour as Elizabeth's, and his dark brown hair is close cropped to his scalp. He's got a tattoo on his left bicep that peeks out from beneath his black 'Dead Head' t-shirt, and there's stubble on his chin. There's a boyish gleam in his eyes, but it's quietly masked beneath an air of responsibility. Everything about him reads 'bad boy,' though, and Olivia smiles.

_Elliot . . ._

"Lizzie, it's time to come eat." He says, Brooklyn accent thick. "Come on."

With a flourish of her baby blues, Elizabeth gets to her feet, a slight frown on her lips. Olivia just sits cross-legged, watching the exchange. She yawns slightly, wondering for a fleeting moment what time it is.

"You too," He continues with a nod in Olivia's direction. "Might want to wash your face first. Lizzie did a number on you. Bathroom's 'cross the hall."

Heat creeps into Olivia's cheeks and she wonders just how much makeup is caked to her face.

She stands quickly and heads for the bathroom, her arm brushing against his shoulder as she does. The minute touch sends a spark through her arm and she can tell that he works out; he's like a rock. "Right."

"I'm Elliot, by the way." He adds.

_Elliot, Ethan, Elizabeth. . ._

Olivia's hands grasp the doorknob to the bathroom and she looks over her shoulder almost coyly. "Olivia."

/

When she exits the house and steps foot onto the deck, Olivia sees the Stabler family gathered around the table. Mr. Stabler sits at the head and to each side sits one of the Stabler boys. Next to Elliot sits Elizabeth and a soon as the young girl sees Olivia she's yelling for her.

"Come sit next to me, Livvie!"

Olivia smiles and brushes a piece of her dark hair away from her face. The sun has disappeared below the horizon and the moon sits low in the sky. There's a chill to the air and along with a slight breeze and Olivia is thankful for her mother's insistence that she wear a sweater.

She slides down next to Elizabeth and Elliot slides an empty plate over in front of her.

"Don't be shy," Mr. Stabler pipes up, motioning to the table of food in front of her. There's potato salad, burgers, hot dogs, corn, and coleslaw. She opts for some coleslaw and a burger.

The clang of silver ware along glass intermingles with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, as the radio hums in the background. Peace. Olivia is at peace. She's sitting on the deck of a beach house that belongs to strangers, eating food she normally shies from, but oddly enough she's at peace.

"Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Stabler," her voice breaks the silence and he chuckles.

"No, thank you. I don't know what you did, but Bernie's been down there blabbing to your mom for the better part of the last hour. Nice not to have to be the one to hear it for a change."

"Because God forbid you actually listen to your wife for once." Elliot quips, a forced nonchalance in his tone, and he bites into his hamburger.

Joseph drops his fork on the table, the silverware hits against the glass with a clang, and his napkin follows.

"Is there something you need to say to me, Elliot?" Joseph implores.

Olivia watches the exchange, the exchange in silence. She can see Elliot's large frame bristle and Joseph jaw lock. It's a showdown of alpha males.

Ethan clears his throat catching sight of the brewing tension and turns his attention to their houseguest, "Olivia, right?"

She's got a mouthful of coleslaw that prevents her from responding, but she nods to confirm his question and then swallows. "Yeah. Olivia Benson."

"Livvie's my best friend!" Bits of salad fly from Elizabeth's mouth at her declaration.

"You've known her for what, an hour? She's not your best friend, she doesn't even like you." Ethan teases and Liz shakes her head in disbelief.

"You're just jealous because she doesn't like you and you like her! That's why you keep staring at her butt!"

Right then and there Olivia almost chokes on a spoonful of potato salad. Her palms hit the table with a thud as she fight to fill her lungs with air. The tension between Elliot and Joseph dissipates as they laugh at Ethan's behest.

Ethan's face turns bright red. "That's not true!" He insists.

"Uh-huh! You told El when Livvie was in the bathroom. You said that she had nice jugs and you were going to ask her to the boardwalk. But she's not your friend; she's mine and she doesn't like you!"

Crimson waves of embarrassment crawl up Olivia's cheeks and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and then proceeds to fold her arms across her chest. Her eyes fall to the plate of food in front of her and her brows furrow together. She wonders what her mother and Mrs. Stabler are up to; she knows that they're probably discussing some complicated concrete verse of T.S Elliot's or sipping from wine glasses. She also knows that they're most definitely not discussing her anatomy.

A part of Olivia, however wonders if Elliot's had anything to say about her "jugs" and another part wonders why she should care if he did. Her mind meanders through the discussion she had earlier with Liz and the name Kathy gnaws at her persistently.

"Why don't you eat up, pipsqueak? Then you, me, and _Liv_ can take a walk down to the ocean while Ethan tries to figure out how to pull his foot out of his mouth?" Suggests Elliot; once again the Brooklyn comes out in his accent, and Liz nods dutifully.

_Liv_ . . . Olivia thinks, and she smiles to herself; she's never really been one ruminate over the way someone says her name, but she likes the way the nickname sounds as it falls from his lips. Her toffee flecked eyes cast sideways and on the other side of Liz she can see Elliot, skin bathed in the glow of the deck lights, grin teasingly at his brother.

* * *

><p><strong>Up Next<strong>: _Elliot and Olivia take a stroll along the beach. _


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry, but I had to focus on school. I'm officially down with my undergraduate career as of today. Next stop is law school. Anyways, hope you're still reading this, and I hope I still have your attention! This is also unbeta'd because my beta is on her way to a castle in Cornwall, UK (i'm extremely jealous).

**Remember, April is Sexual Assault Awareness month! Show your support by donating to the JHF, the NOMORE campaign, or Endthebacklog, if you can. If not, just spread the word and promise to say #NOMORE yourself! **

This chapter is a little bleh, but I was finally able to end it on a note I liked. Remember this is set in 1984, therefore modern technology does not exist.

Thanks for reading.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my macbook.

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><p>Chap 4: Summer Nights<p>

A slight breeze stirs the night air as the threesome walk along the beach and the waves beat at the sand. The sun is completely gone now and the dark blue sky twinkles with a vast array of stars.

It reminds Olivia of a scene she'd see in a soap opera, maybe General Hospital or Falcon's Crest; one where young lovers dance along a sandy shore while the moon bends the tide to her will, and gently seduces it to doing her bidding. Danger lurks around every corner, and every moment might be the last the two lovers have, yet they fear nothing; they have each other.

Except this isn't a soap opera. There's no Luke to Olivia's Laura, and frankly Olivia's always found Laura to be a bit of a princess; something Olivia knows for certain she's not. Nope, she's just Olivia Jayne Benson, a girl walking hand in hand with a boy and his little sister down Long Beach Island.

And by God is Liz a chatterbox.

She's an unending volume of information, just idly blabbing endlessly about nothing and everything all at once. She's told Olivia and Elliot about the boy in her fifth grade class who calls her Lizzie the lizard; the time she smashed her finger in the car door because she was arguing with Ethan; and even the moment she saw Olivia sitting on the porch of the beach house.

Olivia only pays half attention to what Liz's saying, too. She's distracted by the view in front of her. It's weird, she notes, as she holds her flip-flops in one hand and the hand of a virtual stranger in the other, how vast the ocean is. How indistinguishable the blue of the night sky and the blue of the ocean are from one another. How one bleeds effortlessly into the other. She wants to reach out and run her hand along the air, touch the sea, and skim the sky, breath in the salt and dance amongst the stars. Sixteen years on this earth and she's never felt so at peace.

"You'll go, Livia?" Liz's voice cuts through Olivia's thoughts; the trio slows in pace. So intently she's studied the sky that she's all but dropped out of the conversation.

Her only reply is a meek, "Huh?"

Elliot laughs and Olivia glances up at him; he's smiling – a genuine smile and something tells Olivia that he doesn't often. While he seems older in stature, she doesn't think that he's passed the age of twenty, if that. Yet something about him reads 'I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.'

He works his free hand across his jaw and continues to grin. "It's a beautiful view – I get lost in it, too."

She ducks her head and glances down at the sand, and then back up at him through her thick eyelashes. "I wasn't lost . . . okay, maybe a little."

He's laughing now, chuckling to himself and Liz let's go of is hand and tugs on Olivia's, eyes narrowed at her brother. "I'm trying to ask Olivia a question! Stop it!" the little girl hisses.

"And I'm trying to help you, Lizzie . . ." Elliot explains, he throws a wink at Olivia, motioning for her to play along. "Yes, you'll go – right?"

Two sets of blue eyes glance at Olivia expectantly. One set belonging to a little girl who has her hand placed on her hip as she taps her tiny toes against the cooling sand. Something about the little girl's disposition tells Olivia she should tread carefully.

There's a glint to the other set of eyes pinned on her and they remind her of the Cheshire cat from the animated Alice and Wonderland film. She doesn't know what she's agreeing to, but figures that she can throw caution to the wind out here. What's the worst that Liz could want, a piggyback ride down the beach?

Her dark hair rolls in waves down her shoulders and she nods her head, "Right," she agrees, throwing caution to the wind with a grin.

The answer must have been the right one because Lizzie screeches and jumps for joy, throwing her arms around Olivia. "I'm so excited!" she declares, and then with a final tight squeeze, the young girl lets go of Olivia and runs towards the water's edge.

"Be careful and stay out of the water!" Elliot shouts after her and then he plops down in the sand.

If she wasn't confused before, Olivia is now; she still has no idea what she's signed up for in regards to Lizzie's request. A shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the head, Olivia sits down next to Elliot. In front of them Lizzie laughs and digs her hands into the muddy sand, grinning as the moonlight dances off the water's surface.

Silence wafts between Elliot and Olivia as they sit, watching Lizzie, but it's not an uncomfortable silence. Neither of them is tripping over their words to fill the space with idle chatter, and Olivia finds it quite nice, actually. She enjoys being able to coexist in the same space as someone else and hear his breathing without feeling compelled to create a conversation.

Minuets tick by and Olivia finds herself stealing glances at Elliot, who sits pensively, thick legs stretched out in front of him. She parts her lips to speak, but before the first letter leaves her lips, Elliot's words break the silence.

"Lizzie takes it personally when people aren't paying attention to her," he comments, waving as Lizzie shouts for his attention. The starts in the sky illuminate the beach just enough. What the stars can't get naturally, the intermittent overhead lights from the prospective beach houses light the way.

Olivia chuckles as she hears her name being shouted, she watches as Lizzie throws herself into the sand and giggles splinter the air. "I've just never been at the beach – well I've been _to_ the beach, just . . . not like this," Olivia explains, digging her feet into the sand and sifting it through the junctures between her toes. "It's just so …" she trails off, glancing up at the starry sky, "peaceful."

Elliot nods in agreement, leaning back on his palms and tilting his head in Olivia's direction. "It is. Something about being at the world's edge, you just feel so small, so weightless. So free."

His words hit home and Olivia's dark locks ripple against her shoulders as a light wind breezes by. She's spent so many nights holed up in her Manhattan bedroom, air conditioner on as she immersed herself in the words of Plath or Elliot, Behn or Douglass. Escapism at it's finest as she tried to block out the sound endless glass bottles clanging together, or her mother wrenching out the nonexistent contents in her stomach.

But being here, next to a complete stranger, one that she couldn't deny her budding attraction to, on a starry night in the warm sand felt like a dream. She felt free. No worries, no problems.

"Like all your worries have been washed out to sea?" Olivia suggests.

He chuckles, nodding. "If only, wouldn't life be simple then? If our troubles came and went with the tide?"

God how Olivia wishes that was the case. How she wished that each fear, each worry, each creek in the floor board that kept her awake at night, would dissipate into the ebb and flow of the water.

She wants to ask him about his troubles; ask him how someone so seemingly wise, yet so strikingly young looks as if he's balancing the weight of the world on his board shoulders. But she knows a game of 21 questions is a two way street that she's not ready to venture down quite yet. She's got her own fair share of secrets and skeletons.

In the near distance, Liz sits on the ground, elbow deep in wet sand, and fighting back a yawn as she grapples with the muddy granules and grins.

Olivia can't help but to feel a pang of jealousy as her brown eyes watch the young girl in front of her. Lizzie is partaking in something Olivia's rarely had the chance to experience: childhood.

Moments tick by before Elliot speaks again. "So, Liv, what are you doing out here, on LBI, in the middle of the summer? Don't you upper Westside Manhattan girls usually spend their summer holed up at a debutante ball or something? Out mingling with the socialites of the New York Times?"

Laughter leaps from Olivia's lips and she wonders if he's ever even been to Manhattan. While it can be a socialite breeding ground, Olivia is anything but that. She's the daughter of an alcoholic who stays sober long enough to lecture, to converse with colleagues, and to promise her daughter that 'this drink is the last one.'

"Not really. Or at least this Manhattan girl doesn't. I don't really . . . I don't really fit in with the other girls – especially the society girls." Candidly, she finds herself confessing. And it's the truth. Aside from Abbie and maybe Monique, she's not really a talkative girl and she's most definitely not sociable.

"Seriously?" Elliot asks; his tone laced with disbelief.

"I'm not the blonde, peppy, Channel wearing, brunch eating, cheerleading type. I'd much rather hit the ground running than sit around and discuss the latest Versace design and my mom would kill me if I took off to the lower eastside for drugs runs." Olivia rattles on, thinking of the girls in her grade like that; with names like Cassandra, and Muffy, Rose and Alexandria. Girls who have two parents and money to blow – which some times finds it way up their noses.

"I never understood those type of girls to be honest, money to blow and not a care in the world so they send it up their noses. Why? Besides, how many bottle blonde cheerleaders does this world need? " Elliot asks with a shrug of his shoulders, and then he turns to Olivia. Their eyes meet and he offers her a smile.

Olivia smiles back and her pulse quickens. She wonders if this is what love at first sight feels like. It's only been hours since they've met, probably two at the most, but she can't stop staring at him, and his eyes; they drive her crazy.

"As many as it takes to scream 'Be Aggressive, be – e – aggressive'" Olivia chants the cheer with a deadpan expression, causing Elliot's small smile to widen into a full grin, and then raucous laugher.

Liz makes her way back towards where the two teens sit. The young girl's waist length blonde hair is wet at the ends and she's covered in muddy sand. She collapses in Elliot's lap and yawns lightly.

"El, I'm tired." Liz whispers, curling into her brother and Elliot shifts, wrapping his arms around the young girl. The action causes Olivia's hurt to melt, and the love between siblings more than apparent.

"Can we go back to the house?" The young girl whines as she snuggles deeper into her brother's embrace.

"It is getting kind of late," Olivia offers, not really too certain how much time has past since she shuffled out of the beach house she's sharing with her mother.

"Yeah, I've got to get this one to bed." Elliot starts as he shifts Liz in his lap and lifts her up as he stands. Olivia follows his actions and gets to her feet. Liz yaws again.

"Yeah, besides my mom's probably worn your mom down with her endless theories about Anne Sexton." Or she's drunk, Olivia adds silently.

"Shit. I should probably help her on home, she's got the tendency to wander at night." He turns to Liz who is slung over his shoulder and almost to dream land. "Want to go with me to get mom, kid?"

"Is Livia coming?" Liz asks.

"I am," Olivia quickly answers, taking note of just how exhausted the girl is.

_/_

They arrive on the steps of the beach house Serena's rented for the summer to the sounds of laughter and music.

Warily, Olivia is the first to trek in to the house; Elliot and Liz are close behind her. She finds the two women perched on the sofa, wine glasses in hand, smiles on their faces, and books stacked in front of them. Serena spots Olivia first.

"Olivia, what are you doing home so early? I thought you were down the street – down the beach?"

Her speech isn't slurred, and the wine glass in hand is half full, all good signs to Olivia.

"I was; with Elliot and Liz." Olivia motions to the two people behind her; Elliot's still cradling Liz who has fallen fast asleep.

Olivia watches as Serena's blue eyes fall to Elliot and she studies him, from head to toe, her eyes darkening as she does so.

"Oh drats," Bernie pipes in as she shuffles to her feet, causing all attention to fall onto her. Her speech is somewhat slow in rhythm and it takes her a minute to get to her feet.

"Are you drunk, Ma?" Elliot asks, and his brow rises.

"I'm not drunk, I'm slightly intoxicated, and there's a very big difference. Don't start sounding like your father now . . . all that Catholic guilt and what not. Its just wine."

"Come on, ma, it's time to go."

"Ever the boy scout, that seems to forget that I birthed him, not the other way around. I'm an adult Elliot; I can get home alone. Or did you father send you here to collect me?"

Elliot's face is turning redder by the second and Olivia wants to reach a hand out, touch his shoulder and let him know that whatever internal war he's waging, she's there to help him, but stops herself short. She has to remind herself that she's only known him for a total of a few hours.

"Oh Serena," Bernie starts, turning to Serena who pulls her eyes from Elliot and lets them fall on the other woman. "I'm going to head on home before the next thing I know there's missing police report out for me. Joe can go screw all the nurses at St. John's yet, I can't even spend ten minutes down the road."

"Ma!"

"Just come on." And with that Bernie bids farewell to Serena, and nods at Olivia, giving the raven-haired beauty a large smile. "You're such a beautiful girl. Wish my El here had a chance . . .." She stands up and heads to the door, walking sideways the entire way.

"Good night, Liv," Elliot sighs, "Mrs. Benson."

"Ms. Benson," Serena corrects him. "Goodnight."

Elliot heads out after his mother, and the front screen door falls closed with a bang.

"You like him." Serena's asserts as she begins to pick up the wine glasses on the table and head to the kitchen.

Olivia isn't quite sure how to answer her mother's question; they don't talk like this. They don't spend nights gabbing about boys and makeup, clothes or hair. If anything Serena spent hours drilling it into Olivia that those things weren't important.

She's mentally working out how to give Serena an answer when suddenly a lightbulb pops in her head. She'd never found out what she'd agreed to earlier. Bolting from the room and out the front door, Olivia runs down the sand to the three figures almost to the beach house.

"Elliot!" she shouts and his hulking figure, which seems even larger with Liz over his shoulder, stops and turns around, Bernie keeps going and Olivia can hear her muttering to herself.

"Yeah?" he asks as she comes to a halt in front of him.

"Tomorrow, what am I doing tomorrow?"

He turns to see where Bernie is, and then turns back to Olivia, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Hope you know how to skate, Liv," he says, winking, and then turns back around. Olivia watches as he goes, a smile of her own tugging at her lips when she hears Serena shout for her. She retreats back to her own beach abode.

* * *

><p><strong>Up Next:<strong> _Olivia, Elliot, and Liz go on roller blading. And Olivia meets Maureen - yup, she's in this!_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So I should be asleep, getting ready for work, but here I am. I had to break this chapter into two chapters because it'd gotten way too long. So for those who paid attention to my a/n on the last chapter about Maureen: that isn't going to happen until next chapter. Sorry!

Also, Thank you to everyone for your congratulations on my degree! And don't get used to such quick updates, sadly. I'm starting my lsat prep class soon and going on vacation as a congratulations to myself. lol. Unbeta'd cos my beta is still off exploring castles, therefore all screw-ups are mine. Since it's 1AM, there maybe a few. sorry!

Remember, April is still sexual assault awareness month! Lend your voice!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Rollerblading on the boardwalk<p>

_(Mid afternoon the next day)_

She's trying to be quiet, mouse like as she tiptoes across the living room, dressed in a pair of dark blue high-waist jean cutoffs and a white halter-top. Her brown, almost black, hair is in one large French braid that hangs down her back. Serena Benson is asleep on the couch, stacks of papers and books, pens and highlighters are strewn about all around her; an empty bottle of wine is perched on the ground next to her. She doesn't know that her daughter is heading out for the day to go skating, either. But Olivia figures what she doesn't know, can't hurt her.

Olivia's almost to the door when Serena sits up, papers fly everywhere.

"What time is it?" Serena groggily asks, setting the book – James Baldwin's Go Tell It On the Mountain – down on the coffee table in front of her.

"Noon." Olivia answers, rocking back on her white Keds.

"Grab me two aspirins from my bedroom and a glass of water, please?" the older woman asks and the young girl nods, she does as she's instructed and returns minutes later, setting the requests down on the coffee table.

"So, pray-tell, where do you think you're going, especially dressed like that?"

It's an involuntary reaction, but Olivia can't help herself, she rolls her eyes and bites back a comment about her mother's parenting skills.

"And an attitude to match."

"They're clothes that _you_ bought me, and Lizzie invited me to go skating with her down the boardwalk today. I told her I could."

Serena's greying eyebrows jolt upward, a look crosses countenance that reads _'oh, really?' _

"You mean Elliot invited you; and just when were you going to ask me if you could go?"

"No, _Lizzie _invited me." Olivia corrects, lying. If truth is told, while she is more than happy to accompany Liz down the boardwalk to skate, the proverbial icing on the cake is Elliot's presence. Olivia had slept very little the night before. After Elliot had gone she'd spent the remainder of her night thinking about him and those bright blue eyes. The better part of her morning had been devoted to choosing an outfit, and Olivia Benson never thought about her outfits. She was more of a 'is this clean' type girl. But there was just something about Elliot Stabler that made Olivia want to look nice. To put it quite frankly, Olivia Jayne Benson was just about head over heels in like with one Elliot Stabler.

"So it's just going to be you and that little girl, then?" Serena pushes, as she begins to collect her papers.

"No," Olivia starts, her eyes darting to the floor to avert the wary gaze she knew was coming. "El's coming, too."

Serena walks past Olivia and into the kitchen, leaving Olivia standing in the middle of the living room. Seconds later she returns with a piece of toast, no butter. "El, huh? So we're on a nickname basis with him now?" She plops back down on the couch and takes a bite of toast.

Impatient, Olivia huffs, seizing her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbles on it. She waits a few ticks for Serena to chew on her toast and take her aspirin. "Can I go or not?"

With a pointed stare, Serena sets her glass down and speaks, "I think you've already decided you're going. Why bother asking me?"

"Mom."

"Sheep's clothing, Olivia." Serena warns with a tilt of her head and a wave of her hand. Her words cause Olivia to sigh and her heart to ache, she knows why Serena says these things, why she's paranoid and afraid for her daughter; everyday she lives with the fact that she's living proof of the worst night of her mother's life. Nonetheless, though, there's a fine line between protective and overbearing; a line that Serena Benson can't often define.

"Elliot's not like _that_, mom. And he's not interested in me. Besides, I've known him a total of ten minutes." Olivia defends, though she's not certain if she's defending her stance on Elliot or Elliot himself. Just like any teen, Olivia hates when her mother questions her judgement.

"You've known him all of _five_ minutes, Olivia. And most men aren't interested in _you_. They're interested in what they can do _to_ you. Heed my words. And be careful."

"I know, Mom. I know." With that, Olivia grabs her lip balm from the coffee table, and walks out.

/

Ten times. She's fallen ten times in the span of almost two hours and has the cuts and scrapes to prove it. Against both Elliot and Elizabeth's protestations, she'd refused to wear elbow pads her first roundabout in the rollerblades. The gash on her left elbow is proof enough of her stubbornness.

She has to admit it, too, rollerblading is a lot harder than it looks, and surprisingly so for someone like Olivia who is naturally athletic. But there's just something about balancing on four wheels, all in line, that throw her off balance. She keeps forgetting that the brake is in the back and only on one skate; that you don't put one foot in front of the other to turn unless you plain on face planting. Though she's bloody and bruised, she can't help but smile.

The sun is high in the sky, the weather is nice, and she's holding the hand of Elliot Stabler as he leads her down the boardwalk. Liz skates in front of them with ease.

"I thought you said you were athletic," Elliot teases as Olivia pays attention to her feet. The skates are one size too big, too, which isn't helping her situation. Not that she quite minds at the moment, either. She wouldn't admit it out-loud, but she likes holding Elliot Stabler's hand.

"In my defense, I've never been on rollerblades before, if we were wearing skates, I'd twirl circles around you," Olivia states matter-of-factly, adding a roll of her eyes for good measure. Her elbow is stinging and her knee is burning but all of that means very little as she almost slips and Elliot's grip tightens on her hand to keep her from falling.

"Really?" He asks, with a chuckle, making certain that she's regained her balance before resuming their conversation.

"Really," she agrees, ignoring his biting sarcasm as she glances ahead to watch Elizabeth glide with ease down the boardwalk.

She still envies Elizabeth, too. While things clearly aren't the best in the Stabler household, Olivia can tell that Elliot dotes on his little sister with everything in him; she's the apple of his eye and Liv can't help but wonder what that's like. What it's like to have someone who only wants the best for you, ever.

"El, Livia! Look at me!" Elizabeth shouts and both Elliot and Olivia look up to see the tiny blonde skating backwards, waving at them. She stays backwards for as long as possible before turning around and coming to a stop in front of an ice cream vendor. A large smile is plastered on the young girl's face as she looks at the ice cream vendor and then at the oncoming pair.

Elliot chuckles and lifts he and Olivia's hand. "Can I let you go long enough to pay for some ice cream?" he teases. Olivia let's go first, and then shoves him slightly.

"I'm not inept. I can stand, you just wanted a reason to hold my hand," she insists with a grin, openly flirting – or at least what she hopes is flirting - as they come to a halt in front of the vendor.

"I don't think so, I think you wanted to hold my hand so you're pretending to suck at blading. Though, throwing yourself around what, twenty times? That's dedication."

"Shut up and buy your sister her ice cream," Olivia smirks, and her dark brown eyes meet his bright blue. There's a mischief dancing across his face, which causes heat rising in her cheeks as Elizabeth starts to babble about ice cream choices. The young girl grabs Olivia's hand and begins pointing at various different ice cream treats and Olivia is thankful for the distraction as she breaks the gaze. She's also glad that Liz is holding her hand because she finds it difficult to stand without help in the inline skates.

"What are you getting, Livia?" Liz asks and Elliot butts in.

"How about you ask your big brother if you can have the ice cream first because I know you don't have money for it, kid." Elliot tells her.

"Scuse' me, but I think Liz asked _me_ a question," Olivia butts in, turning to Liz and winking. The little girl smiles back at her. "I think a lemon bar or a fudge pope. What about you?" Olivia continues.

Liz looks back at Elliot again, waiting for his permission.

"Don't worry about your brother, _I'll _buy your ice cream." The brunette tells Liz, and the young blonde brightens, her smile goes wide and she looks at the vendor siting underneath his umbrella. Excitement dances in her eyes as she lets go of Olivia's hands and eagerly points to a fudge pop.

"I'll take a fudge pop and a lemon juice bar," Olivia tells the vendor as she digs deep into he front right pocket and pulls out a five-dollar bill.

Elliot watches in amusement, a smirk on his face, as the vendor hands Olivia back her change.

"I'm surprised." He starts, clearly trying to suppress a grin.

"By what?" Olivia asks, shoving her change into her pocket. The vendor retrieves the ice cream bars and hands the fudge pop to Liz and the ice bar to Olivia.

"That you managed to do all of that without falling."

The grin that crosses her face is in good humor as she rolls her eyes and opens her juice bar, slipping it into her mouth. "Just for that, you get to buy your own ice cream!" She tells him, slipping her free hand into Liz's free hand then slowly, but surely skating off.

/

The three of them sit on a bench, facing the beach, eating their ice cream; Liz with her fudge pop that drips down her hand and onto the ground, Olivia with her lemon juice bar, and Elliot with his red, white, and blue ice pop. The waves are beating back against the beach with force and somewhere a radio is blaring the sounds of Hall and Oats.

She's almost done with the last of her juice bar when Elliot breaks the silence amongst them, having finished his ice pop first.

"Lizzie," he starts, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees so he can see around Liz who has chosen to sit between he and Olivia. "Don't you think Liv looks nice today?"

The blonde's response comes swift and the tone of her voice leaves little room for question. "Of course!" She turns to give her brother an incredulous look, as if he's lost his mind for asking such an absurd question. She then turns to Olivia, chocolate covering her mouth.

"I like your hair. Could you do mine like that?"

Crimson red creeps into Olivia's face and she's grateful that she's always had the uncanny ability to tan like no other so her skin tone hides a tad of the red. They're flirting – she's flirting – he's flirting. This is unmarked territory for the young Manhattan girl who shies from most boys her age. Not that many boys line up to date her either.

Olivia shakes her head, finishing the last bite of her juice bar. "Sure, my friend Monique taught me how to do it, she does her whole head in tiny little braids. I can teach you." She offers and glances sideways to see Elliot staring at her, smiling. Coyly she looks away and out to the beach.

"I'd like that." Liz tells Olivia as she bites down her fudge pop and then grabs the napkin so generously supplied by the vendor and wipes her hands and mouth. More of the paper sticks to her than actually takes off the melted chocolate. "Here, let me take the trash to the trash can," insists the young girl as she holds her hands out for the empty ice cream sticks. Elliot hands her his and so does Olivia, they watch as she gets to her feet and skates the thirteen or so feet down the boardwalk to the nearest trashcan.

While she's on her way back, Elliot looks over at Olivia, his arm stretched out on the back of the bench, the mischievous glint back in his eyes. "Think you could show me how to braid, too?" He gestures to the military cut he's wearing and Olivia rolls her eyes, though laughing still.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an ass, Stabler?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're cute, Benson?"

Once again the red creeps into Olivia's face and she looks away quickly, Liz plops back down in between them and one of her sticky hands reaches out and grabs one of Olivia's that sits idly on her knee.

"Come skating with me again, Livia?" Liz insists and Olivia gets to her feet, still unsteady on the blades and skates off.

Or at least tries to.

Liz pulls on her hand a little too forcefully, and Olivia, who is mid skate, looses her balance. She goes down in a heap of limbs and skates as she lets go of Elizabeth's hand to prevent the young girl from falling.

Her right ankle twists in the one-size-too-big skates and she can feel the tears rise and suddenly her ankle is on fire.

Both Liz and Elliot rush to her side as she kicks off the skate in anger and grabs her ankle.

"Livia, I'm sorry!" Liz apologizes and there are tears building in the young girl's eyes.

"Oh, no it's not your fault, baby," Olivia tries her hand at comfort, though the pain in her ankle is searing. "I just suck on skates," she laughs, tears in her own eyes as she takes off the left skate, too and tries to stand and walk off the injury. She's almost on her feet when she feels Elliot wrap an arm around her waist and shift her weight onto him.

"Come on, let me get you back on the bench, take the skates back, and then we'll head back down the beach. Lizzie, Olivia's going to be okay." With ease and authority, he takes charge and before Olivia knows it, both he and all three pairs of skates are gone.

Liz sits on the bench next to Olivia apologizing profusely.

"Livia, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Liz, I'm okay. You didn't do anything," Olivia insists as Elliot comes back, shoes on. Liz slips her sandals back on and then Elliot slips Olivia's left shoe on her foot, much to Olivia's protestations, and then hands her the right one.

"I'm going to carry you back," Elliot informs Olivia and she scoffs without second thought.

"No, you're not. I can walk; I'm fine. I've twisted my ankle before. I _do_ play sports."

"If you walk back you're going to mess your ankle up even more. Don't be stubborn."

"I'm not being stubborn," she starts, getting to her feet, as soon as her right foot hits the boardwalk she winces. "I'm being me."

Liz tugs on Olivia's shorts, sniffling. "I don't want to hurt yourself even more, Livia. Please let El help you." The young girl asks and Olivia concedes with an eye roll. Elliot bends down in front of her.

"Get on my back," he motions and Olivia shakes her head.

"Not happening."

"Olivia." He growls and Olivia sighs in frustration.

"Fine," and with that she climbs onto his back and he stands. Olivia is glad that he can't see her face from this angle because tan or not, she's certain that she's cherry red. Her heart is fluttering and her mouth is dry.

_She's on Elliot's back._

_You like him_, Serena's voice barrels into her thoughts and she tightens her grip around his neck.

"Can you grab my shoe for me, Liz?" She asks, and the small blonde nods.

The trio then set off for home.

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><p><strong>Coming up:<strong> Olivia meets Maureen and accepts a date.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I have a knack for updating at 1AM, oops. Anyways, I'm somehow managing to get this story along. Battled through a bit of writer's block, now we're here. Hope you enjoy. And don't hurt me too much. Also, per the lovely person that sent me the pm, the title of the piece is from the Deanna Carter song "Strawberry Wine." I'm not a country music fan in the slightest, but that's one of my favourite songs and it fits here so well.

All mistakes are mine, beta is still off in Wonderland. Sorry!

Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer:** Just own my macbook, that's it. ^^

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><p>Chapter 6: Baby Makes Three<p>

Olivia sits on the salmon pink couch, foot propped up on Elliot's lap as he turns her foot gently in his calloused hands. She's trying her damndest to save face and not wince with every movement, but she's in pain. Minute pain, but pain nonetheless. How had she fallen? It'd all been a blur. One moment she was hand in hand with the youngest of the Stabler clan, and the next she was clutching her ankle and trying not to cry.

Liz paddles over to the couch, a frown on her lips as she approaches the pair. Ever since the Olivia's slip and fall she's done nothing but apologise profusely, even after Olivia had reassured her just about a thousand times.

"You okay, Livia?" Liz asks, and Olivia smiles, again.

"Yes, Liz, I'm just fine. It's a little sore, that's all. You did nothing wrong." Olivia assures the young girl once again, making certain to catch eye contact with the blonde beauty. "My skates were too big and I was in too much of a hurry. You did nothing wrong."

Just at that moment Elliot chooses to squeeze her anklebone, where it's the most sore, and Olivia lets out a yelp. She yanks her foot bank and shudders.

A light smile plays on Elliot's features as he watches her, clearly amused.

"Well, it's not broke," he announces and it takes everything inside of Olivia to not kick him right then and there. They've known each other just shy of three days and at that moment he's the most infuriating and interesting boy she's ever met.

"Ya think?" she hisses as Elizabeth scurries around the table as fast as her little legs will carry her and slugs Elliot in the arm hard as she can, which probably isn't hard at all.

"Don't hurt her!" Elizabeth growls, pulling back her closed fist to swing again when Elliot grabs her arm.

"Calm down, Lizzie, I wasn't trying to hurt her. I just wanted to make sure nothing was broken." He lets go of Liz's fist and holds up his own arm in surrender. "If you wanted to help, you'd go grab some ice in a towel from the deep freeze, can you do that without hurting yourself?"

"Of course I can," responds Lizzie. She walks back over to Olivia and brushes a stray piece of hair from the brunette's face then leans forward and kisses her on the head. "Whenever I don't feel good, momma kisses my boo-boos. I'm not kissing your foot, so I'll kiss your forehead instead." And with that, she's off.

The gesture leaves Olivia speechless and part of her wants to cry. She's never had someone as sweet and as pure as Liz care for her so much.

"Lizzie really likes you," Elliot's voice interrupts and he reaches for Olivia's foot again. His touch is featherlike as he gently prods his fingertips across her ankle.

"The feelings are mutual," she smiles, watching Elliot's fingers.

"And she's not the only one. . . Are those feelings mutual?"

His words catch her off guard and her eyes widen at his admission. Did she hear him right? He likes her? Whether she heard him right or not, the flush in her cheeks and the heat that radiates up her leg and to her belly where a warm sensation builds causes her to go dumb for a moment. She isn't quite sure how to respond.

Seconds chip by before she finally does.

"What?" She asks, for lack of a better reaction, unable to formulate any other word.

Clearly Elliot's amused because he can't help but chuckle as caresses the skin atop her injured foot just slightly enough to send chills up Olivia's spin. She briefly wonders what the rest of his hands could do before shaking her head and nonverbally imploring him to continue.

"I said: I like you, Liv – Olivia. I hope those feelings are mutual. And I'd like to take you to this thing, a carnival down the board walk - "

He doesn't get to finish his words, however, as Lizzie comes flying back into the room, ice and a towel in hand.

Olivia mentally chastises the girl for her poor timing, but thinks back to moments before, when the young girl had kissed the top of her forehead.

"Here, El! Hurry, make Livia better."

Both Olivia and Elliot laugh then and Elliot reaches for the contents in Lizzie's hands. He puts the ice in the towel, and then rests the damp, cool cloth on Olivia's ankle.

Olivia anxiously waits to find out what he's going to ask her, but he doesn't finish his statement, and she doesn't want to ask; doesn't want to seem like the clingy, anxious type.

"Lizzie." Elliot motions to Liz, and Olivia winces again as the cloth come into contact with her ankle. "Want to help Liv while I go find the ace bandaged?"

Lizzie nods enthusiastically and Olivia smiles.

"Just keep this on her ankle and I'll be right back," he instructs the young girl and the siblings switch positions.

Elliot then disappears into the abyss of the Stabler beach house.

Liz holds onto the makeshift icepack for dear life, and her touch isn't nearly as reassuring as Elliot's was, but nonetheless Olivia is grateful. She's just getting ready to thank Lizzie when the front door to the beach house bangs open.

Mr. Stabler enters, followed closely by a pretty blonde carrying a toddler on her hip, and Ethan.

"Lizzie, Olivia!" He greets them, and Olivia smiles nervously as she hurriedly scoots her foot off the couch. From the corner of her eye she studies the blonde, growing more self-conscious by the moment. Her hair is done up in a perfect bun, she's wearing a pair of black leggings that perfectly accentuate her curvy legs, and she's wearing an oversized grateful dead t-shirt. On anyone else the outfit would look a mess, but on the mystery woman it just looks effortless.

"Hi Mr. Stabler," Olivia greets with a small smile. The toddler squirms from the woman's grip and runs towards where Olivia sits with Liz.

Liz greets her with a smile, "Hey, Mo, this is Livia, my friend." Liz then gets down on the floor between the coffee table and the couch to continue putting the ice on Olivia's swollen ankle.

The toddler, with bright blonde hair and electric blue eyes, babbles incoherently at Olivia and proceeds to laugh. Olivia can't deny how adorable the little girl is and talks back.

"Hi, Mo." She greets the toddler, and Mo smiles in return. "You're such a cutie."

The blonde in the corner pipes up then as Ethan, dressed as if he'd stepped out of the new TV show, Miami Vice, whips past her and heads for the kitchen, scurrying past Olivia. Mr. Stabler follows close behind with a car seat in hand.

"Thanks, she's adorable, but a handful."

Mo pokes at Olivia's knee then and giggles, her eyes meeting Olivia's and Olivia can't help but wonder where she knows the girl's eyes from. They seem so familiar, but at the same time they aren't.

"Little sister?" Olivia asks, grinning as she tries to keep her swollen ankle out of the toddler's path, which is a lot harder than it looks.

"Oh no, this is my daughter, Mo – Maureen – Mo, don't step on her ankle, come here!" The blonde chides and daughter and walks over to where the young girl stands, smack dab in front of Olivia and Olivia can't help but to admire the blonde's figure, which is even curvier up close. She forces a tight-lipped smile, then.

"Oh. Well she's gorgeous, she looks a lot like you." Olivia tries, as she mentally attempts to gauge the blond woman's age, figuring that she couldn't be much older than she was.

"I'm Kathy, by the way." The blonde introduces herself and the name rings a bell in Olivia's memory, but she can't quite think of why.

"Olivia is staying down the beach," Mr. Stabler's voice booms as he reenters the room before Olivia can introduce herself. "And apparently she hurt herself," he adds as he gestures to Liz and the ice.

"Oh yeah, Liz and I were skating, I fell; it's nothing, swear." She laughs awkwardly and then Kathy speaks again.

"Not going to say hello to me Lizzie?" Kathy asks and Liz just turns away.

Olivia watches the exchange in curiosity, not suspecting Liz's cold shoulder, even though she wasn't the one it was aimed at; the young girl seemed so friendly to everyone.

"Eeeek!" Maureen squeals in Kathy's arms, and both Mr. Stabler and Olivia turn their attention to the toddler.

"Does Pop-pop's lil' Mo-mo want some attention?" Joe asks, and Maureen claps her hands together in excitement.

The words leave Olivia's mouth before she has a chance to assess them, "Pop-pop?"

"Yup, my grand daughter, spitting image of Elliot, ain't she?" He asks, and the revelation hits Olivia like a sack of bricks. Kathy. Elliot. Liz. Friends.

She attempts her hand at a poker face and smiles, the clear resemblance between Elliot and his daughter becoming clearer by the second as she stares at Maureen. She then glances at Kathy and the irrational jealous sets in, which she berates herself for immediately. This woman's been with Elliot in the biblical sense, and it makes Olivia's blood boil though she knows she has no right to feel this way. She'd known Elliot for four days, which was it.

"Yeah, she is. She has his eyes." Kathy smiles, pinching one of Maureen's chubby cheeks and the girl squirms.

"Yeah, and Kathy here is Elliot's fiancée." The pride in his voice and the grin on his face does not miss Olivia.

"Joe, you know very well that El and I. . .."

Olivia tunes out the conversation in front of her. Fiancée? The word smacks her up one side of her head and down the other. All of her afternoon flirting and even the exchange from a few moments ago, where Elliot had told her that he liked her felt wrong - dirty. He was getting married, married to Barbie herself, who even after a baby managed to look like Wonder Woman.

"Oh. I didn't know . . .." At that moment Ethan decides to make his re-entrance into the room, carrying a sandwich. He doesn't look Olivia's way as he sits on the other end of the couch.

Olivia looks at the ice pack on her ankle that Liz insists on holding in place and then proceeds to wiggle her toes. She winces slightly at the pain in her foot, but stands up nonetheless, Liz backs away; thanks to the ice, she's numb. Well her ankle is just about anyways. She wishes that her heart were numb, too. He'd told her that he liked her, just for her to find out moments later that he was getting married. What was she, a last minute roll in the sand? An escape from his daughter, what?

_And most men aren't interested in you. They're interested in what they can do to you._

"My mom's probably worried about me, I'm going to hobble on down the beach before she sends out a missing person's report," Olivia laughs, though her laughter is forced; she bends down to grab her abandoned shoe and shakes the pain away as she walks towards the back door.

"You don't need to be putting pressure on that ankle, young lady," Joe sounds and Liz paddles behind her. "Ethan here'll help you. Ethan get up and help the girl."

"Dad, I'm going to get sand in my . . .." Ethan starts as he finishes his last bite of sandwich and gestures to his white tennis shoes.

"I'm fine, Mr. Stabler," Olivia insists, but much like Elliot earlier, Joe is hearing none of her reassurances of health.

"Get your pansy ass out there and help this beautiful girl," Joe hisses, ignoring Olivia's words.

Ethan get's to his feet and Olivia has to stop herself from rolling her eyes as his hand slips around her waste and she leans against his thin frame, feeling uncomfortable. For a fleeting moment she wonders where Elliot has gone off to before she turns around.

"Tell El that I have an ace bandage back at home?" she asks, and both Joe and Kathy nod.

"Bye, Livia," Liz whispers as she trails behind Ethan and Olivia. "I'm sorry again, please be okay."

"I'm fine, Liz, it's not your fault" Olivia insists once again, though she's anything but. The longer she stands on her ankle the more pain she finds herself in, and the longer she stays in this house, the closer she is to crying, something she never did, especially not over a boy.

"It was nice meeting you, Kathy. You too, Mo - Maureen. See you later Mr. Stabler." she calls over her shoulder and continues on her way, using Ethan for support.

/

Olivia plays the last hours over in her head, from the talk with her mother, to the hand holding on the boardwalk, to meeting Elliot's future wife, and his daughter. Each snap shot, each memory is like a punch to the gut. They'd talked so much the last two days, but nothing about a fiancée and a child had ever come into the conversation. What did he think; she (Olivia) would be a quick lay, his summer fling before his future wife showed up?

They're almost to the Benson beach house when Ethan speaks. He's fumbling over his words, and the hand on her waist that helps to distribute her weight and keep pressure off her ankle is trembling.

"I know you're probably busy or something, but I was wondering if you wanted to um, there's this thing down the beach tomorrow night, for the fourth of July. Fireworks. Want to um, I mean you don't have to if you don't want to, but I was thinking, it's kind of a carnival thing and . . .."

Ethan Stabler is asking her out.

She has to stop herself from chortling not at his words, but more so at her luck. Lady Luck is a cruel bitch, Olivia thinks, taking Elliot from her in the blink of an eye and then trying to substitute him for his younger brother.

They reach the steps to the front porch of her rented beach house and she smiles at him. He's cute, and boyish, kind of scrawny, but handsome in his own way. She bets that they're (she and Ethan) about the same age, but doesn't ask. Instead she pushes back the fly away hair that hangs in her face, and her brown eyes catch sight of his dull bluish gray ones. She thinks of Elliot, of Kathy, and of Maureen before nodding.

"I'll go with you."

He's trying to hide it, but Ethan's face immediately lights up in glee. "You will?" he asks, whether in disbelief or for clarification.

"Yeah." Olivia responds, trying to hide the sadness in her tone.

_And she's not the only one . . . I like you Liv._

"I'd love to."

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><p><strong>Up Next:<strong> A carnival and a kiss


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** So I've had a horrendous case of writers block, paired with some last minute preparations for a presentation I have to give at a conference at the beginning of next month.

This isn't the chapter that I wanted to post, and I'm not entirely happy with it, to be honest. If you read the 'Coming up Next' at the end of the chapter, just note that well . . . I fibbed. Again. I wanted to get something posted for you beautiful lot so here we are. BUT there will be a kiss and a carnival next chapter, promise. I just had to get this down. It felt inauthentic to skip ahead without adding these two conversations.

Forgive me and hopefully kind of enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** At this point I barely own my brain, the LSAT does.

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><p>Chapter 7: Late Night Conversations<p>

Roughly three hours later Olivia sits perched at the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room, annotating a copy of Sylvia Plath's _The Bell Jar_. Her swollen ankle rests on the chair in front of her, wrapped in an ace bandaged with an ice pack tucked into the encasing. She's taken two aspirins and the intense throbbing has finally dissipated.

And she wishes the same could be said for the hollow feeling in her chest, the dull stabbing and gnawing in the pit of her stomach.

She'd _liked_ him. She _likes_ him. Elliot. The asshole that didn't tell her that he was getting married, the nimrod that'd conveniently forgotten that he had a one-year old daughter. And she hates herself for it, too. Hates how easily she'd allowed herself to open up to a complete stranger, and how she'd even entertained ideas of them being together.

Most of all, though, she hates how she'd actually thought that someone like Elliot had actually taken interest in her, a sixteen-year-old girl from Manhattan with a drunk for a mother and a pension for pushing people away.

Across the room Serena Benson sips from a wine bottle and scribbles on a legal pad, and every now and then her slate colored eyes glance her daughter's way. Olivia knows that her mother wants to ask about that afternoon, about Elliot; she can tell by the way Serena lifts her head from the yellow legal pad in front of her and casts them suspiciously in Olivia's direction.

She wants to ask about Elliot, Olivia knows she does, but for some reason doesn't – or at least not yet.

The front door sits opened, and through the screen Olivia can see the starless night sky. It's a warm July night and she's contemplates going outside to enjoy the air, but truth be told she's not in the mood to star gaze.

"So," Serena speaks, disrupting the silence, and Olivia's already waning concentration is broken.

Olivia looks up to see Serena's slate eyes boring into her.

"What happened?"

The semi-slur in Serena's words warns Olivia to tread lightly. Serena isn't drunk, but the older woman had the tendency to become hostile at the drop of the coin when there's alcohol in her system.

"I already told you, I sprain my ankle; my skates were too big," Olivia explains, closing her book and letting her chocolate eyes meet her mother's gaze.

Serena chuckles then, and takes a sip from the bottle in front of her. She shakes her head, her salt and pepper colored hair bouncing in waves, and glances up at Olivia.

"You seem to forget, Olivia, I was a young girl once, too. Before it, before _you_."

It's like a sharp knife to the gut the way Serena hisses her words. It's an accusation; it's blame, its atonement. It's cold concrete, pried legs, and invasive questions.

At a loss for words, Olivia nods; anger and sadness rise in the pit of her stomach. She hates the man that fathered her and she hates part of herself.

Either oblivious to, or ignoring the silent war Olivia wages within herself, Serena continues speaking. "And I knew what it was like to have an older boy look my way. You fell for him, both figuratively and literally." She gestures to Olivia's ankle. "But I've warned you about wolves in sheep's clothing…"

"Nothing happened, Mom. Elliot is a _friend_. That's it. He's engaged. He's getting married." Conviction and reassurance lace her tone, though she isn't sure whom she's trying to convince, here, her mother or herself.

"Really, married?" Serena's brows furrow, as if she's in contemplation. "Because married men don't cheat - especially with pretty young things with perky chests and wide eyes? Because men don't have the irrefutable tendency to be -"

A knock at the door interrupts Serena before she has a chance to finish her sentence. Olivia glances upward to see Elliot standing in the doorway, a slight smile on his face.

His appearance is like a gravitational pull that causes her heart to flutter. She's angry with him,_ at_ him, but she can't deny the feelings he causes to stir within her, the heat that rises and showcases itself on her cheeks. Involuntarily, she smiles. If love at first sight was real, Olivia decided, this is what it felt like.

With a pointed look, Serena clears her throat, drawing Olivia's attention from the door, and then turns her attention back to her daughter. "Dogs." She finishes her sentence and tosses the notepad down on the coffee table.

From the glass of the screen door comes the muffled voice of Elliot. "Liv, can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, and Olivia slides off her chair, careful not to put too much pressure on her ankle, though she doesn't make any movements towards the door. Not quite yet.

"Wolves, Olivia." Serena repeats once more before rising to her feet and walking towards the kitchen. Passing Olivia, she sets the empty wine bottle down in the sink, and then proceeds to rest her frame against the counter. "Well, go see what he wants – or I will." The last part of her statement comes as a threat, and Olivia can only manage what a talk between her mother and her – Elliot would consist of, Serena threatening to castrate him, perhaps?

"One sec," she yells, the smile on her face disappears, and then she hobbles the length from the kitchen to the screen door.

Once she makes it to the front porch, she finds Elliot standing at the bottom of the steps, grin on his face and ace-bandage in hand. There's pep in his step and a swagger in his sway as he rests against the railing.

A pang of jealous rises in Olivia's stomach and she wonders if the pep in his step is due in part to a perky blonde with shapely legs. She immediately chides herself for those thoughts, too, laughing internally at her reaction. Kathy could do whatever she wanted with Elliot; he was Kathy's fiancée after all.

"Hey." Elliot greets, smiling. "We never got to finish our conversation earlier. Oh, and I brought you this," he holds up the ice bandaged and motions to her already bandaged ankle. "But I guess I'm too late. Sorry about that, by the way. Something came up or I'd have been down here sooner." He laughs then, chuckling to himself and Olivia's heart pulls.

It'd taken two days for her to become so familiar with him, to open up to his presence, his ticks and mannerisms. They'd become fast friends, unsurprisingly, and now here she was, looking to put distance between them and firmly set the line in the sand; break their instant connection.

_Elliot's taken_, she quickly reminds herself as her mouth starts to form a smile at his words. "Conversation?" She asks, her black hair riding the waves as the wind picks up. She leans against the banister to take some pressure off of her foot.

"Yeah, I was going to ask you something . . ." he trails off and turns towards the beach that beats back against the sand as the moon pulls the tide to and fro.

"Huh." Olivia replies, feigning confusion. Walls. She must build walls, hell a football field, so long as it's something between them because she certainly hadn't forget that he'd been preparing to ask her something earlier. She hadn't forgotten the feel of his hands against her skin or the way he'd held her hand.

Turning back towards her, half smiling, half grinning, Elliot nods. "Yeah, I was going to ask if you wanted, if you wanted to go with me to this carnival thing tomorrow. You know, a date . . ."

His words do it then, they create an avalanche of anger inside her and her already dark eyes blacken. A date? How could he stand there and ask her on a date when she'd met his fiancée, his daughter – a daughter he hadn't even brought up yet! Did he think she was stupid?

She scoffs and then asks, "four's a crowd, don't you think?"

His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. "Huh?"

And then she laughs a humorless laugh, "You, me, your daughter, and your Ka- _fiancée_."

"What? Fiancée? Olivia . . . wait, you met Mo?"

"She's gorgeous, looks a lot like you, though you don't really talk about her enough . . ." Olivia continues, trying to keep her voice from cracking while she continues to mentally chastise herself for even becoming angry, for even feeling hurt. She didn't have the right.

Forcing indifference into her voice, Olivia closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and continues to speak, as if she's not fazed. "She must be the something that came up, too . . ."

"Liv, if you're mad that I didn't tell you about Maureen, I was going to tell you about her when she got . . . fiancée?" His brows furrow together. "I don't have a fia—what?" His confusion is evident.

The conversations getting old and Olivia is getting cold; she's ready to go inside before she does something stupid, like scream at him for making her feel like he actually liked her. "Look, we're, I'm not - " pausing, she bites on her bottom lip and contemplates what to say next. "I'm not into dating engaged men, and I have a date for the carnival already. Now if we're done, I have to rest my ankle."

An indecipherable expression falls across Elliot's face and Olivia knows that he can feel the shift in her attitude; she can see his physical response as he immediately straightens his back. She's angry, but more than that she's hurt and sad with a billion questions flying through her mind, all at once, but she'll never ask, she doesn't feel entitled to the answers.

They stand in silence for a few moments before Elliot speaks again; it's clear that he's choosing his words carefully. "I've gotta be missing something here, Liv. You've gotta throw me a bone. Suddenly I have a fiancée and you know my daughter . . . wait, you already have a date?"

She shakes her head, the dull stabbing in her gut intensifying as she tries to stop herself from glaring at him. She can't believe that he's starring right at her and denying the truth she'd seen with her eyes earlier. "Ethan asked me, and I said yes. Now, if that's it, I'm going to head in."

"Ethan - that little Miami Vice, wanna-be rat. Look, Liv, we're speaking in circles and I'm just confused as shit here. One minute you're telling me you like me and we're holding hands down the boardwalk, the next we're standing here speaking in riddles. Can we just break for a second and talk, where did you get this fiancée from?"

Kathy, her name is Kathy, Olivia wants to scream, to hiss. She's been repeating the name in her head for the last three hours. How could he deny his fiancée?

Pushing back from the bannister then, eyes full of anger, Olivia places all of her weight on her bad ankle now and levels him with a glare. He's incorrigible and she's hurting, both physically and emotionally. "Good night, Elliot." She hisses and heads back into the house; she lets the screen door slam shut, and then shuts the big door, locking it. She heads straight for her room, ignoring Serena as the older woman mouths something about 'trouble in paradise.'

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><p>Up Next: (Seriously this time) A carnival, an argument, and a kiss.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Once again, I've got a knack for mid morning updates. Insomnia for the win?

**Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews, your words make me smile! Thank you so much for your feedback!** They also give me hope that this doesn't suck. Haha. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, again, but it's better than the last. I'll be running around from the midwest to the east coast for the next two weeks, so i'll try to get in another update, but note it won't be before the end of this week. Sorry loves!

**Disclaimer:** Own nothing, but my fingers, an idea, and a computer!

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><p>Chap 8: Beach blankets and stolen kisses<p>

_(LBI Carnival – the next night)_

She's having fun, actual fun.

Kick up your heels, throwback your head, and shout fun. She hadn't quite expected it, either, in all honesty. Not that she had something against Ethan; they were the same age and all, but after the night before, she'd expected to be a bit of a party pooper. And truth be told, she'd set out not to have a good time. From the moment Ethan had knocked on the beach house door and she'd stretched her sore ankle and hobbled through the threshold, she'd sworn off having a decent time.

In two days Elliot had managed to leave track marks across her heart she was quite sure she wanted erased so soon. But she didn't want to think about him, at least not now. That was done and over with. Her peace, said.

So here she is; laughing and smiling as she sits on Ethan's left, his arm resting behind her as the Ferris wheel rotates round. Kenny Loggin's Footloose blares in the distance.

Ethan's silly, and he keeps the conversation light. Unlike Elliot, he doesn't seem to let much faze him, though much like Elliot Olivia thinks that he feels a lot more than he shows. She chides herself for even comparing the two.

"Indiana Jones Temple of Doom or Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark?" Ethan asks, throwing her a genuine smile.

"Definitely Raiders, nothing beats an original." She replies and her response solicits a nod of approval from Ethan.

"You've got good taste, Benson. Now, here's the real test. Music."

Olivia raises her brow, taking the words as a challenge, ready to defend her music taste as a drop of the dim. She shifts her body and tilts her head.

"_Sister Christian_ or _Dancing in the Dark_?"

Something between a chortle and a snort falls from Olivia's lips and she shakes her head. "Hands down, without a doubt, Dancing in the Dark; Springsteen is a rock god."

Ethan shakes his head dramatically, a feigned disappointment in his voice. "Sister Christian, come on. Sister Christian!"

She rolls her eyes at his actions and shrugs her shoulders, grinning. "What can I say, Springsteen is a classic. I could listen to _Born in the USA_ all day."

"I swear. You're like Elliot. He likes Springsteen, too. I mean, he's not bad, but . . ."

At the mention of Elliot, Olivia zones out of the conversation. She thinks about yesterday, about the time they'd spent rollerblading and talking, teasing each other and flirting. There's a pang in her stomach and the smile on her face must have disappeared because Ethan's voice barrels back into her thoughts along with his hand atop hers.

"You okay, Olivia?" He asks, concern in his tone.

The Ferris wheel is coming to a halt and Olivia forces a smile back on her lips.

"I'm fine." She assures him, internally berating herself for letting her thoughts stray. "Just thinking about what I'll say or do if you tell me you're not a Prince fan."

He laughs then and drops his hand from where it rests atop Olivia's on her thigh. "I liked Thriller."

Her mouth drops open, and she shoves his shoulder, eyes wide at his words. "You're joking, right?"

Ethan catches her hand as she goes to pull away and holds it; she doesn't pull away immediately, though she notes how foreign his hand feels in hers. He's sweating, his palms are soft, and when she glances up at him from underneath her lashes, his blue eyes are like ice.

"Maybe." He replies, and then winks.

/

About an hour later, the duo sits side-by-side, chairs angled towards the water. About ten feet down the beach there's a boom box playing a selection of golden oldies; sixties rock-n-roll and Motown.

The sun's setting and there's a chill flitting through the air. Cold, Olivia runs her hands up and down her arms, cursing her self for forgetting a sweater. Not that she'd even put much thought in her outfit anyways, a simple jean skirt and an oversized shirt.

Her outfit choice had come at the behest of Serena's prodding about a date, and her lack of enthusiasm.

The fireworks are about to start soon, and silence wafts between the teens. Ethan's fidgeting in his chair, and Olivia can tell he's a ball of nerves. He's been a springboard of nerves and confidence all day, from the moment he'd edged down the beach and asked was she ready. She finds it endearing, though she isn't certain why he's a mess of nerves. It then hits her and she thinks back to the moment she met him and the subsequent declaration from his little sister that he'd been checking her out.

Suddenly she's nervous and she begins rubbing her arms more vigorously.

"Are you cold?" Ethan asks, looking at her with a half smile.

"A little, yeah," she admits with a sheepish grin and he nods.

"I'll go see if I can find us a blanket?" He suggests with a shrug of his shoulders. "Usually there's someone down the board walk selling cheap ones."

"It's okay, I don't want you to waste your money on my stupidity. I'll be fine."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"At least take this." He lifts his black t-shirt over his head and takes it off, holding it out for Olivia to take, leaving him his jeans and a white tank top.

"You really don't have to do that . . .."

"I'll be fine, promise."

Apprehensively Olivia takes the t-shirt and pulls it over her head, careful not to disrupt the side ponytail she'd spent a half hour perfecting that afternoon. The material slips over her body and the shirt is large and loose, it's armholes falling down to her elbows. An appreciative smile falls across her lips and she glances up at him again.

He's nice. Sweet. Different than the boys she always seems to draw attention from. He isn't trying to grope her, and he hasn't tried to shove his tongue down her throat just yet. For a first date, this is a pretty nice one. Not that she had many to benchmark it against either, really. Olivia Benson didn't consider herself the type of girl that guys date.

Though she's had her fair share of dating excursions.

There had been the student from her mother's Introductory to Literature course that she'd let take her for a soda in between classes, and then immediately let fill her up inside the lecture hall before her mother's next class. There'd also been her mother's colleague, a balding man, probably in his early to mid forties that she'd come on to at her mother's office party in the coat closest. She'd kissed him hard and angry before he'd pulled away and told her that Lolita was not a part someone as pretty as she was destined to play.

A coat closest and a lecture hall were far from proper dates, to be honest, however.

"So," Ethan begins and Olivia turns to him, "how'd you get stuck on LBI for the summer?"

She's just getting ready to answer his question, to tell him that her mother had dragged her, when a ball of blonde hair and blue eyes comes flying at her, shouting, "Livvie." It's Lizzie, covered in cotton candy with a glow stick hanging from her neck.

"Livvie!" The little girl exclaims, throwing her arms around Olivia's middle best she can. "Are you feeling better?"

"Beat it pipsqueak! Olivia and I were in the middle of something." Ethan hisses and Lizzie pulls back from Olivia and rolls her eyes, then she bends down to inspect Olivia's ankle.

"A little. And hey to you, too, Liz." She laughs, watching Liz's movements with a curious eye.

"You shouldn't be on your foot!" Lizzie reprimands, shaking her head in a dramatic fashion.

"And you shouldn't be alone! Now if you don't mind, Lizzie . . ." Ethan grates, clearly annoyed, but isn't allotted the chance to finish his words when another voice interrupts, a voice Olivia knows all too well.

"She's not alone." Elliot states and Olivia whips around to find him, Maureen on his hip and Bernie at his side, approaching. The trio slowly makes their way to a spot adjacent from the one that Ethan's carved out for them.

Bernie greets Olivia with a smile as she begins to unfold a blanket and then sits.

"Hand me my little Poppy." She instructs Elliot and he seats Maureen in front of his mother.

Olivia watches as the toddler coos in her grandmother's arms and begins to giggle. Involuntarily, Olivia finds herself smiling when she realizes how rude she must look. She can almost hear her mother's voice now, chiding her for poor manners.

"Mrs. Stabler, you should take my chair," Olivia starts, ignoring the fact that she's even on a date, when she can feel it – him then; so close. She can feel his eyes on her, watching her and suddenly she has to go. She doesn't know where, but she has to go somewhere. To hell with it if her ankle isn't all the way healed, she's going to run, run far away.

"Oh hon, no, you stay where you are. I'm fine. I'm not old yet, besides, I want you to turn around and pretend we're not even here. Lizzie, you come sit next to momma and leave Ethan and Olivia alone; they're on a date. It's Ethan's first date – "

"Mom!" Ethan chides and Olivia stands, careful not to knock Liz over in the process as the little stands almost on top of her.

"I'm going to go grab a, um, a . . . I'm going to go use . . . I'm going to find . . . bathroom." Olivia stammers and then breaks away from the huddle of people she's suddenly found herself in and limps towards the boardwalk.

/

Her back is pressed to the railing and her eyes are closed as she attempts to reel in emotions she didn't even know she felt. Two days. She'd been in his presence for two days and somehow it'd felt like a lifetime. Electricity had flowed between them and nothing was forced. Not the conversation, the flirting, or even the sarcastic banter. Their chemistry was natural, but he was getting married – to Barbie.

Everywhere around her people are chatting, dancing, laughing and drinking; they're happy, yet she feels like someone's punched her in her gut.

"You know, you probably shouldn't be on that." His voice breaks through her thoughts and Olivia doesn't have to turn around completely to know that he's standing next to her, on her left. She can sense his presence.

"I'm fine." She states quickly, her ankle is the last thing on her mind at the moment.

"You're stubborn. And you're going to hurt yourself."

His words smack her done like a ton of breaks and she has to force herself from laughing a bitter laugh at his words. Hurt, did he not realise that he'd already hurt her? Or rather, she'd hurt herself. She'd let herself get close and it'd hurt.

"Where's your fiancée?" Olivia hisses, turning to face him, her head tilted. "I saw you brought your mom, your daughter, but no future wife. Why is that? Hard to get babes when they know you're a dog?"

She throws her words at him, firing each syllable off as an accusation.

"For the last time, I don't have a fiancée, Liv – "

"Don't call me that."

He's becoming frustrated, she can tell because he runs a hand down his face and his shoulders tense. "Olivia, I don't have a fiancée."

His blatant dismissal of what Olivia had seen first hand causes anger to burn in the pit of her stomach; she takes a deep breath in, and stomps off best she can. She doesn't want to listen to him lie; she doesn't have the patience or the time.

She doesn't get far, the crowd is thick and she is slow, before she realizes that he is following her.

Turning on him, her brown eyes narrow, and she finds her balance. "Stop. Following. Me. I'm going to find a bathroom, and I'm going back to my date."

"Date, really?" He rolls his eyes. "Look, I'll stop following you if you do me a solid and explain to me why you think I have some imaginary fiancée; why I lied about Maureen, and why you won't give me five minutes of your time to let me explain."

"Explain what, I _met_ Kathy."

He's laughing now, his large frame shakes, and his shoulders slump.

Olivia's blood starts to boil and she wants to hall off and hit him square in the mouth. He's laughing at her. He's laughing at her feelings and she wants to hit him and cry.

Instead of doing either, she turns back round and continues on her path, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She doesn't find anything funny about the space he'd managed to occupy in her mind, even if only for two days.

"Olivia!" His voice sounds once more, but she doesn't turn around. He doesn't have to say it aloud; her infatuation had been one sided and silly; he saw her as a fun game until his fiancée showed her face.

"Damn it, Liv," comes Elliot's voice again, and then suddenly there's a hand on her wrist, it gently stops her and then spins her in place. People gripe and hiss as Elliot uses Olivia's wrist as a tether and guides her to the side of the board, near a railing. The sky is dark and there's a breeze, any moment the fireworks will start.

Elliot stands in front of her now, their bodies angled towards each other and she doesn't look at him. His grip is loose and if she wanted, she could pull away, but she doesn't. She likes being close to him. There's something about his large frame that makes her feel safe and sound instead of intimidated and meek.

He brings his free hand up to her chin, and tilts her face upward, willing her to look at him. She tries her best to look away, to stop herself from looking into those oceans he calls eyes, when he whispers 'Look at me.' And she does.

"Kathy _is _Maureen's mom, but we're not engaged. We're not getting married. We had Maureen our last year of high school. Mo is my blessing in disguise, and while I love Kathy, we decided shortly after Maureen was born that we were better off apart than together."

"But your dad said that –" She starts, thinking back to Mr. Stabler's words and how she'd zoned out completely after he'd spoken them.

"He wants Kathy and I to get married, and he think that if he beats on his chest enough times we will. And it's not going to happen. I don't want to marry Kathy just because we were two horny kids after a football game . . ."

Olivia doesn't know what to make of his words, but as she stares into his eyes she knows that they're the truth. Nonetheless, however, she doesn't want to interfere; to feel like the third wheel in a relationship that could grow one day.

"Is that why you agreed to go out with Ethan and why you refuse to even look at me? You think I was joking around with you yesterday? Setting you aside to play with while my fiancée watched our daughter? I'm not that guy, Liv. I can be an ass and a jerk. I have a temper and I'm not perfect, but I like you and I hope –"

His Brooklyn accent is strong as he speaks, and all Olivia can do is nod at his words while silently berating herself for everything she's ever done wrong. Maybe, she thinks, Serena is right; she's daft and gullible, a dangerous combination, and she's playing right into his hands.

Maybe he's really is a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Or maybe he's the guy she's falling for, whilst on a beach, for the summer, with her less than pleasant mother and it's nothing more than that. And maybe, just maybe she should throw caution to the wind and let it be.

She nods at his words, not catching the last of what he's said before she rises to her tippy toes and does the unexpected (even surprising herself). She kisses him, softly and slowly, savoring the feel of his lips against her as if she'll never have the chance to taste them again.

Behind them, the night sky is ablaze with bursts of bright blue, red, and white light.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Had to cut 9 in half because it was super long. This is essentially part one. I have to edit part 2 before I post it. 16 hours on a bus makes for some great writing time.

Thanks to all those that keep reading and reviewing. You are the best. Also, I'm working on the second chapter of my other EO story 'A Cabernet Soaked Kiss" now. Haven't forgotten it. Kind of lost/now found the inspiration for it.

**Disclaimer:** Don't owe anything but my computer, sadly.

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><p>Chap 9: Mommie Dearest<p>

The world doesn't exist – at least not at the moment. She's like jelly under his hands, completely pliable as her body melts against his strong frame. His hand that tilts her chin upwards moves feather light across her face to rest against her cheek, half cupping her face. His other hand, the one that holds her right wrist, drops and comes to a resting position at the small of her back.

Olivia snakes her arms up his sides and winds them around his neck, pulling him closer as her lips dance along his.

_She's kissing Elliot_. _Elliot is kissing her_.

And she doesn't want to stop. Sure she can hear the fireworks around them, the ooo's and ahh's of the crowd, but none of that matters. She revels in the feel of Elliot's lips, the thumping of her heart and the warm burning feeling building in the pit of her stomach.

This is her first real kiss. There is no coatroom or lecture hall, desperation for human touch or revenge. It's just the boy she likes – really likes – his lips, hers, and fireworks (figurative and literal).

She wants to remember everything about this moment, from the surprising softness of his lips to his unique scent, a mixture of Irish spring, sea air, and something that Olivia couldn't quite place her finger on, but knew she loved.

They stay locked together for what feels like an eternity before they break apart. Olivia's smiling, eyes dancing, and Elliot is grinning. She doesn't make a move to step out of his embrace, nor does she drop her arms, though she ducks her head low, a blush creeping across her cheeks.

"Sorry . . .." Olivia whispers, biting her bottom lip, the fact that she hadn't asked permission before shoving herself on him finally hitting home. "I just, I've been wanted to do that for a while. I didn't mean to just . . . just jump on you like that. I shouldn't –"

Instead of answering her with his words, Elliot responds by tilting her chin upwards and then pressing his lips back against hers, this time his tongue begs for interest. Eagerly, Olivia obliges, a new sensation builds in the pit of her stomach and the warm feeling spreads across her body. His tongue feels like silk, and the fingers of his hand that splays across her lower back dance in rhythm.

It's only when someone clears their throat that the two break apart. Olivia looks to her left to find Ethan standing in between she and Elliot; the guilt sets in immediately.

Elliot hisses, "Shit," and his arms drop from around Olivia. He steps back and Olivia does the same.

She can see the hurt written on Ethan's face and she wants to explain, to apologize, even though part of her doesn't think she has to; she'd signed up for one date, not a walk down the isle.

"Ethan, I – uh – um." She's stammering, trying to sort through her words; the feel of Elliot pressed against her is fogging her mind. She'd never wanted to leave his arms.

"Save it." Ethan grates through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed. "I knew you were into El anyways. Just give me my shirt and I'll be gone."

The hurt in her eyes is like a sharp knife and she frowns, then nods, she slips his shirt over her head, pulling the scrunchie from her hair in the process, and then hands the garment back to him. Her hair is hanging in tendrils, framing her face as she looks up at him, brown eyes trying to convey her sorrow at hurting his feelings. He just takes the shirt from her and sulks off.

"I'm sorry!" She shouts behind him and her eyes fall down to her feet. "I didn't want to hurt you – I didn't mean to, Ethan!"

But her shouts are of no use, the younger of the two Stabler boys continues on his path and down the boardwalk.

Her brown eyes follow him until he completely disappears into the crowd and she wraps her arms around her middle. She'd been in the middle of the perfect kiss, and then everything had gone perfectly wrong.

Elliot's hands come to rest on her shoulders, squeezing them lightly and she turns to see his bright blue eyes staring intently down at her.

"I didn't mean to." She repeats again, and Elliot chuckles.

"He'll be fine, Liv. He's just being his normal melodramatic self. Besides, I don't think you've got anything to be sorry for. At least not in my book…" He flirts; his hands trail down her shoulders and over her arms that are still folded around her middle.

Goosebumps pimple her flesh and there's a night breeze that picks up. She's not used to being touched like this. The simple caresses, the feel of someone else's warm body pressed against her – and someone she likes, really likes, not a person of opportunity.

If only, she thinks, he knew how his touch made her feel.

/

They're sitting on the porch of Serena's rented beach house. Elliot's arm is slung over Olivia's shoulder as she rests against his side. She watches the waves as they beat back against the shore content.

After the fireworks, they'd gone back down to where Bernie and a sleeping Liz were, helped them home, and walked the beach. It was only after Olivia felt an insurmountable pressure building on her ankle and Elliot's declarations that he'd carry her that they'd sat, chatting and laughing, and then finally in comfortable silence.

"So, tell me your favourite color." Elliot's voice interrupts and Olivia looks up, her brows knitting together at the question. "Come on, its not that hard Benson. Your favourite color, go."

"Why do you want to know it, _Stabler_?" She mocks, brow raised.

He's smiling now, and against the moonlight and the light up the porch, Olivia can see his blue eyes sparkle.

"Because." He starts, and his pulls his arm from around her and sits forward. She hates the cold feeling that immediately sinks in with the loss of his body heat. "I want to know everything about you, Olivia – Liv. I do. You're . . . you're not like other girls. I don't know. There's something about you. Something different and I just – I want to get to know that."

The way he fidgets at his admission and the way he won't look in her direction tells Olivia that communication isn't exactly Elliot's strong suit. His words, therefore, were to be taken with the utmost meaning, which she already had. For so long she'd been taught by her mother to trust no one, especially men and boys, and that they only wanted "a place to bury their dick" she could see Elliot was different. Perhaps it was because he had a daughter of his own, or a little sister he'd hand the world to if he could, but Elliot Stabler was not a wolf in sheep's clothing; he was decent and kind, loving and strong. And most of all, he thought about her – Olivia – first.

"So finding out my favourite colour will unlock the secret to who I am?" She laughs, watching as he comes to rest his elbows on his knees. Tracing a path with her cold fingers down his bicep all the way to his hand that hangs over his knee, she laces their fingers together and squeezes. She likes touching him. "It's purple."

Elliot laughs and Olivia wonders what she'd said that he'd found funny.

"Purple." He repeats and she nods. "So I take it you're going to see _Purple Rain_ next week then, too?"

And now she knows why he's laughing. While they'd yet to discuss music tastes in full, Olivia had made no qualms about her love for one Alphabet Street singer. She'd declared as they'd shuffled down the boardwalk and _I Wanna Be Your Lover_ roared from a boom box that she'd marry Prince.

"Want to be my date?" She asked abruptly, then. Once the words were out of her mouth she panicked, trying to sort out how to pull them back, erase them from the air she'd released them into. "I mean, you don't have to; we're not dating – I don't think we are. Are we dating? I mean, I want to go with you – I mean I want you to go, I mean. . ." She's tripping over her words at the sudden realization that she'd kissed him – not once, but twice earlier, held his hand all night, and snuggled against him that she still didn't know where he'd stood with her, even after his recent admission.

"I thought the guy asked the girl out." Elliot asks, amusement at her stumble dancing on his face. "I'm not a huge Prince buff – I think he's a bit too out there sometimes, but if it means spending time with you, I can handle it."

She doesn't know whether to hit him or thank him – Olivia took Prince as very serious business – but instead of doing either, she smiles, wide and uninhibited, and kisses him. Softly and slowly she lets her mouth mesh against his and his lips return the favor. They break apart after a few seconds, both smiling.

"I like kissing you – I like it a lot," admits Olivia slightly sheepishly, her embarrassment prevalent on her face. She's never been in a relationship and she's been sixteen for a total of four months.

"I like kissing you, too . . ." He agrees and they're locked at the mouth once again; this time Elliot leans his large frame into hers, one of his arms snaking around her back and pulling her close, snug against his chest.

It's only when the screen-door bangs open and Serena Benson steps out onto the porch do they break apart to breathe. Olivia's nerves immediately jumble together and her mouth hangs open; her cheeks are flushed and her lips swollen.

"House. Now." Serena barks and Olivia knows she's in trouble. She glances back at Elliot, trying to keep the fear out of her expression and mouths a quick 'goodnight' and then gets to her feet. Elliot watches as she goes.

"Goodnight, Ms. Benson. Liv – see you tomorrow for lunch and Frisbee with Liz. You can meet Mo, too." He shouts and Olivia's just through the door when it slams shut.

Olivia scrunches down in front of her mother, shrinking in size as the older woman advances one her. Next thing Olivia knows, her eyes are full of tears and her cheek is stinging, burning red, as she's certain there's a Serena Benson sized handprint on her face. Instinctively her hand flies to her cheek and she chokes back a sob. A familiar stings sets in and she bites her bottom lip, wishing that she was somewhat surprised by her mother's behavior.

"I didn't raise a little slut, Olivia." Serena hisses and steps forward. Olivia can smell it then, the vodka on her breath. The words cut Olivia like daggers. "You don't leave with one stupid boy and then bring another to your doorstep and practically plant yourself in his lap. Purring like some stupid lovesick puppy while you let him do as he wishes to you. I won't let you repeat your . . . your – _his_ actions and mistakes."

The young brunette stares down at her feet, and she can see where her foot is beginning to re-swell from her injury. Serena doesn't have to say it for Olivia to know that Serena's alluding to her father; the man who'd forced her birth – and she (Olivia) is the mistake. It takes everything in her to keep the tears that roll down her cheeks silent.

"Yes, Mom." Olivia's voice is small and cracks as she says the words. "Can I go to bed now?"

"_Can_ I?"

"_May_ I go to bed now." Olivia amends, knowing that Serena Benson was at her cruelest when vodka was involved and that if she didn't follow along, she'd receive more than a slap to the face. All that the young girl wanted in that moment was to fall into dreamland and think of Elliot and not how her mother had ruined her happiness so astutely.

"Get out of my sight." Serena hisses and with that, Olivia heads into her room, carefully closing the door behind her and locking it. She slides down the somewhat water warped wood and fights not to cry. She finds reprieve in knowing that Serena Benson would be far too hung-over and out of it to stop her from seeing Elliot tomorrow.

Stripping down quickly changes into an oversized t-shirt, paired with fresh underwear, and slides into bed. She wills herself to dream of Elliot and not of her non-existent, rapist father and drunk mother.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Had a rough time finishing this chapter, tbh, but I hope you all like it nonetheless.

And, as far as last chapter goes, just learned that LBI doesn't have a boardwalk, so for the purpose of this story, lets pretend it does and I'll be better at my google searches next time? Sorry, loves. Always this is kind of long. sorry again. i'll try to update quicker, but i can't make any promises.

Big thanks to Dreamingforyou1976 for giving me some 80s music and the geographical protip, too.

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><p>Chap 10: Mothers and Mo-Mo's<p>

It's around 11AM the next day when Olivia's eyes flutter open. She sits up and stretches, a yawn escapes her lips, and the sun peaks in through the slatted shades of her room. The night's previous events float through her mind. Ethan, Elliot, fireworks, a kiss – kisses. Kissing Elliot, walking along the sand, his hand on her hips, laughs, and smiles.

Serena.

A shudder shakes Olivia as she brings a hand to her face and lightly traces her cheek, then her lip. The skin beneath her fingers is swollen, and silently she hopes that there isn't a bruise. Serena's slap had been sharp and quick, but the fact that Serena also had a habit of draping her fingers in rings didn't help either. Luckily, if one could call it that, Olivia had experience in hiding the bruises that marred her body. Not that Serena made it a habit to beat her daughter, but a backhand to the mouth, a shove into the kitchen counter, or a rough jerk by the wrist was never too out of character for her, especially when she was drunk.

With a sigh, Olivia stumbles to her feet, shoving (or at least trying to) all thoughts of her mother from her mind as she shuffles over to the vanity mirror. Her fingers had been correct in their analysis seconds prior; her lip and cheek were both swollen. A small scratch also rests above her top lip, along with a slight purplish mark along her cheekbone; nothing she knows that she can't fix.

She stretches her arms out in front of her and wipes at her eyes once more.

A smile crosses her lips as she remembers; today she's meeting Elliot. And she's meeting him under far different circumstances.

They're dating – or something of the sorts. They hadn't had much time to disclose the nature of their relationship before Serena had made her entrance. Nonetheless, however, Olivia knew things between them had changed – and she couldn't have been happier.

But she knew that her happiness would have to be compartmentalized for the moment; dealing with a hung-ver Serena Benson was a feat only for the brave at heart.

Quickly digging through the drawers of the dresser that belonged to the owner of the beach house, Olivia pulls on a pair of shorts and gently makes her way into the hall; time to assess the damage of hurricane Serena.

She shuffles into the hallway that leads to the kitchen, and her brown eyes scan the counter top. Empty vodka bottles sit in the sink, along with a half full jug of orange juice. There's leafs of paper every where and a broken glass she almost steps on as she surveys the damage

Serena's no where to be found, and Olivia turns back on her heels and heads towards the room that serves as her mother's bedroom for the next two weeks. Gently she pushes the door open, trying not to make a sound when she finds Serena, clad only in her t-shirt, her greying hair hanging in waves around her face, curled in bed, an arm slung over her eyes. Next to the bed sit two empty bottles of wine. With soft footfalls, Olivia makes her way over to the bottles and slips a finger into each opening, careful not to get too close to Serena's face. Like a child who'd learn not to touch hot surfaces after being burnt, Olivia knew what it did to Serena's psyche to see her daughter's face so close while still under the influence of alcohol. Too often the child of rape and the rapists features had molded into one, and Serena would send a flurry of slaps, flying fists, and pleas of 'Please, stop' in Olivia's direction.

With the bottles in hand, the young brunette shuffles back into the kitchen, making certain to shut the bedroom door behind her. Two pints of vodka, plus two bottles of wine would leave Serena in oblivion for at least six hours, if not more; she'd be sick later, but Olivia knew that the day belonged to her; whatever she wanted to do, she could; Serena was out of commission.

Olivia checks the clock above the sink, and dumps the wine bottles next to the pints, and quietly heads for her room to get ready for the day.

/

She's changed four times; hell-bent on having the perfect outfit, though in honesty she's never been like this. Clothes were always an after thought for her, not that she didn't like dressing up, but she'd never understood the fuss about the perfect ensemble. Now as she stands in front of her mirror, clad in a simple spaghetti-strap, white sundress with pink and blue flowers littering it that comes to her knee, she wishes she'd put more thought into her wardrobe. Each outfit she's tried leaves a sour taste in her mouth; they've all either made her feel frumpy, or kid like – there was no in between. With a shrug and a huff, she stares at her reflection.

"As usual, this is as good as it's going to get." she groans, and then runs her hairbrush through her long locks that hang in waves around her face. She uses the black elastic around her wrist to tie it back and let it hang low, and then sets to work on her face.

Much like clothes, makeup, too, had been something that she'd never really been into. Sure for covering purposes, which is part of the reason she uses it at that moment; careful not to irritate the already swollen skin of her cheek as she applies a bit of concealer, but for the purpose to feel pretty. Serena didn't approve of makeup; she'd contended that it drew the wrong attention, which meant Olivia didn't wear it. The few coveted items she'd managed to possess without her mother knowing had been gifts from her Great-grandmother, a gentle woman of 79 years with a thick Russian accent, who'd enjoyed spoiling Olivia – much to Serena's dismay.

A pat of blush, and some eyeliner later, Olivia takes a once over at her reflection, shrugs, and sets out for the day.

/

The sun sits high in the sky as Olivia stands, legs apart, toes digging into the wet sand, and eyes locked on Elliot's.

"You really sure you should be on that thing?" he questions, uncertainty in his voice as he gestures to her healing ankle. Olivia rolls her eyes. It's been roughly an hour of utter bliss, just the two of them throwing a now long-lost Frisbee back and forth on the beach.

"If you ask me that one more time, I'm going to shove you into the ocean." she threatens with a grin, intending to eventually follow up on her threats, her mind doing wonders to image him, hard body and all, wet.

"Is that a threat, Benson?"

"If you want it to be, _Stabler_."

"Well, two can play that game."

And suddenly he's barreling towards her, and Olivia takes off to run in the opposite direction, but her bruised ankle renders her moot. Elliot grabs her around the waist and she giggles, her hands gripping his wrists, as he spins them in circles before hoisting her body over his shoulder. He's dragging her towards the water and she clutching his 'Good Morning Vietnam?' t-shirt so hard her knuckles are turning white.

"Where's all that sass now, huh, Benson?" he pushes and Olivia's laughing so hard her side is starting to hurt.

"If I go down," she shouts as her hair slips from the elastic and there's hair in her face, "you're going down with me."

As if to test her assertion, Elliot's hands wrap around her lower thighs and he tries to lift her from his shoulder. Olivia's heart thumps in her chest as she becomes hyper aware of Elliot's body, especially his hands. They're soft, yet calloused, gentle, and yet rough as they rest on her legs. The more he tugs, the tighter her grip on his shirt grows until her knuckles are white – a sharp contrast to her naturally tan skin.

"You've got one hell of a grip." Elliot remarks, and he spins them in place until Olivia screams.

She's dizzy and all of the blood in her body is making its way to her head. Shaking her legs, Olivia wiggles out of his grasp and slips down his body until her feet hit the sand and they're face to face, her chest snug against his, her hands resting on his shoulders.

"I know." she agrees, grinning and then licking her lips.

They stand in silence for a few moments and Olivia studies his features. She notices a few laugh lines along his jaw, and that when he smiles his eyes crinkle at the sides. Her eyes are so busy studying his face that she's caught off guard and plesantly surprised when his mouth ascends on hers.

His lips are warm and slightly wet with sweat; she can taste syrup on his lips and even a hint of mint as his mouth envelops hers. She even forgets about the small cut and slight bruise until his trails his hand up to her body, and tries to cup her jaw. His fingers sink lightly against the bruise, and Olivia winces. A step back breaks the kiss and Elliot stares at her in confusion.

"Did I do something?" he asks, worry evident in his face.

Like a well skilled attorney, Olivia finds her words- the lies coming easily from years of practice. "Oh, no, sorry it's just – I'm not used to waking up in a strange bed yet and – eh this is embarrassing, but I uh, my face introduced itself to the floor this morning - I fell out of bed."

Laughter shakes Elliot's body as he brings a hand to her chin and tilts her face sideways to inspect the damage. Olivia's breath stills and she hopes her answer will suffice, though very rarely have many people ever probed further into her random strings of cuts and bruised. There was her math teacher, Renee Hughes who seemed hell-bent on getting the truth out of the young girl, but never got much more than an 'it doesn't happen all the time.' Abuse was much easier to ignore when it wasn't acknowledged.

"You're so fucking clumsy." he teases, smirking, and Olivia rolls her eyes.

"I am?" she challenges, and in one swift moment, Olivia's hands are fisted into Elliot's t-shirt and she's the one spinning them this time. Once, twice, three times she spins them before tangling a foot in between his and sending him to the sand and on his back.

She picks up the abandoned hair-tie that'd slipped from her hair and wraps the dark brown tendrils back in place. The tide chooses that moment to surge forward, and the water comes to her ankles, and threatens to over take Elliot as he rolls onto his side.

Hands on her hips, she cocks an eyebrow at him.

"Nice," is his only response as he sits up and reaches for her hand, guiding her down until she's just on the cusp of wet sand and dry sand, next to him.

/

They're wadding in the water, knee deep, hand in hand, and talking nonsense when the door of the beach house flies open. In the doorway, a brightly dressed Bernie bounces a screaming Maureen on her hip.

Elliot casts Olivia an apologetic glance and lets go of her hand; they shuffle back to the house. The hem of her dress is wet and she curses herself for not putting on any sunblock earlier; her skin feels prickly and her face is flushed.

"Sorry, El." Bernie apologizes, coming down the steps and meeting the two teens half way. "She's been screaming da-da the last ten minutes. I tried to calm her, but she wants you."

Before the distance between father and mother is completely closed, Maureen is already squirming from her grandmother's hands and jumping into her father's. Immediately the tiny arms wrap round Elliot's neck and the cry stops.

"Dada." Maureen coos, nuzzling into the crook between Elliot's jaw and shoulder. She sticks a thumb in he mouth and fists his t-shirt.

Witnessing that moment does two things to Olivia; the first is her heart swells. Her brown eyes watch with appreciation as Elliot rubs large circles on his daughter's back and whispers promises of 'dada' always being by her side. The moment is so beautiful that the second feeling it stirs within Olivia is that of intrusion. She feels like an outsider, interrupting something special between three generations of a family, and slips a few paces back. A hint of jealousy causes a pang to strike her side and she wonders if her own mother held her like that, stroking her hair and promising her the world.

"'Ts okay, Mo-Mo, daddy is right here." Elliot strong voice coos warmly, his Brooklyn accent seeping through.

"Should've known, Poppy just needs a nap, but – just like a true Stabler girl, she's gotta have daddy to sleep." Bernie comments with a shake of the head, and then her eyes set in on Olivia.

"Hello, Olivia…" the older woman starts, a smile on her face and Olivia's brown eyes meet Bernie's steel blues.

"Hi, Mrs. Stabler."

"Bernie dear. Call me Bernie. How's your mom doing?"

"She's fine." Olivia lies, knowing full well that her mother isn't doing well. She's hung-over and passed out, no doubt by this time in her own vomit.

"You think she'd mind if I popped on by? I've dug up some of my old writings and I'd like to see if she could take a look. You know, get some feedback…"

"No – I mean yeah. She'd mind. She's working on some of her lesson plans today, which is why I'm down here. She hates to be interrupted when she's on a roll; stayed up all night because she was on to something. So I wouldn't wake her – I mean interrupt her. ." Olivia back pedals, her words coming out in spurts as she tries to think of any and every excuse as to why Bernie visiting her mother would be wrong on all accords. Not only was Serena more than likely still drunk, but also Olivia was certain that her mother wouldn't approve of her current whereabouts.

Elliot turns then, and his blue eyes search Olivia's face as she averts her gaze, her nerves getting the best of her as she silently hopes her answer will suffice.

"Oh that's okay then, hon, I'll catch up with her later." Bernie shrugs and then heads back into the house.

The sun bounces off of the waves, glistening brightly as Elliot stares at Olivia. His gaze is intense, and critical, and Olivia knows he's studying her. She turns on her heels, the sand hot underneath her bare feet and heads back towards the beach.

She doesn't have to be a psychic to know that he's following her; she can feel his presence.

"You know, Liv, you can tell me anything," his voice sounds into her ear and she can hear Maureen's soft snores.

"I know." she agrees and turns to smile at him.

/

Olivia's covered in muddy sand from head to toe as she runs down the beach – sprain ankle long forgotten. Behind her Maureen giggles, giving chase as fast as her little chunky legs will carry her. Fully re-energized from an hour and a half nap, the toddler is on the move, and she runs full force into Olivia's open arms. Long locks whipping in the wind, the young brunette laughs and swings the tiny blonde in a circle.

"Caught me!" she shouts, and Maureen giggles.

It'd taken just one bop on the nose for the youngest of the Stabler clan to warm up to Olivia, and from that moment on they'd be inseparable.

Evening is approaching, however, and Olivia knows that it's almost that time to head home. Serena will be awake, and in need of help to recover from her bender soon.

Somewhere along the beach the sounds of _Jump _by Van Halen blare.

"So that's it, huh?" Elliot remarks as he moseys down to where the two stand. "My girlfriend and my daughter abandon me to hang with each other, then?" he holds out his arms for Maureen, but the young girl buries her head into Olivia's chest, giggling.

The word girlfriend causes Olivia's heart to beat faster and she's dizzy with excitement; she's _Elliot's_ girlfriend.

"Is that so, Mo?" he asks, a feigned look of hurt and shock on his face.

The young girl turns her head back to her father; blonde curls blowing in the wind and sticks her tongue out. Olivia laughs at the gesture, and resituates Maureen's weight to get a better grip on the toddler.

"And I take it you learned that from your aunt Lizzie?" Elliot rolls his eyes and cocks an eyebrow. "Good thing she's off with her friends, or I'd take her by her tongue," he starts, reaching out and grabbing Maureen's tongue, "and cut it off."

"Calm down there, crazy." Olivia comments, batting his hand away. "You're dada is a nut-nut huh?"

The words elicit a string of giggles from Maureen and she squirms from Olivia's arms and reaches for Elliot, promptly plopping herself into her father's awaiting arms.

"Eat-eat, dada. Eat." Maureen demands and she's yanking on his cheeks, her tiny hands massaging his face as she speaks.

"Why don't you go feed her, El? I've gotta get home anyways." Olivia suggests, her eyes glancing towards the beach house where she knows her mother is.

"Why don't you eat with us? I make a mean can chili?"

"It's okay, besides, it's my turn to cook." She lies easily.

Elliot bounces Maureen over to one hip and his blue eyes bore into Olivia's brown. The intensity in which he studies her expression scares Olivia and in that moment she knows that Elliot can tell she's lying. Her breath hitches and she waits, one – two – three seconds for him to call her on it, but instead he nods.

"Okay," he simply states, and the tension in Olivia dissipates. "Tomorrow night, me and you – we'll head up to Beach Haven, to see…" he pulls a face, "_Purple Rain_. It'll be our first real date; baby free."

Maureen grins as if on Q.

"I'd like that." Olivia whispers, smiling at both Elliot and his daughter.

"Good, see you round 6; we'll do dinner first."

And her heart flutters for the nine-thousandth time that day.

"Deal. Bye, Mo." she steps forward and pinches the cherub cheek baby.

"B-" the first syllable doesn't even have the chance to leave her lips when Elliot's mouth is on hers. He gently moves his lips along hers, and they stay like that for a few moments until Olivia reluctantly pulls away. "Bye," is all she says as she almost trips on air trying to turn around, and heading for home.

/

The house is dark and the stench of vomit hangs in air as Olivia does her best to quietly open her mother's bedroom door. She finds Serena, damp towel over her head, huddled in a ball at the edge of the bed.

"Olivia, is that you?" a voice asks, and Olivia sighs; her night is going to be a long one.

"Yeah, mom?" She answers.

"Bring me two aspirin and some water. I just need to go back to sleep, please."

"Okay."

As she sets about, readying the aspirin, pouring the water, and finding a change of clothes so that she could clean up her mother's mess, Olivia lets her mind drift to tomorrow night.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** You ever start writing something then re-read it and hate it? That's where I'm at right now. Sigh. I'm trying to power through, though. Sorry for delay in updating, too. I've been super busy the last few weeks. But good news, i've got the next chapter just about done and will try to have it up by Monday. That chapter is all young love EO fluff (and maybe a little bit more *wink wink*). I'm still trying to update my other stuff, too. sorry!

also, Volk v ovech'yey shkurye is Russian for a wolf in sheep's clothing.

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own anything.

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><p>Chap 11: Permission<p>

The air is thick and hot, heavy with the promise of rain, though the sun inches high into the sky. It's early morning and the day is just beginning. Olivia Benson sits, legs crossed, shorts riding high, in a laundry cart. Her nose is tucked tightly in The Bell Jar, and a single tendril of dark, sweat matted hair, that is slightly curled, hangs down her face, as she concentrates on the task at hand. It's early morning and while she appears to be reading – turning the page, underlining a word here and there, she's truly contemplating how to approach her mother.

Like daughter, like mother, Serena also sits, legs crossed at the knee; book in one hand, pen in the other, reading.

Similar to a child awaiting Santa on their first Christmas, Olivia peeks over the edge of her paperback every now and then, contemplating just how to broach the subject of her upcoming date with Elliot. She'd counted herself lucky a couple of night's prior when Serena, scribbling fiercely in a notepad, had simple waved her off with a flick of the wrist in regards to going out with Ethan.

But Elliot and Ethan were vastly different people, a fact Olivia had become acutely aware of the last couple of days. While Ethan was more of a seemingly harmless boy, smiling sheepishly and struggling to create conversation, Elliot was a man. At eighteen years old, Elliot Stabler was a father and a caregiver; he had two jobs and an almost fiancé. Asking to go into town with him was going to be a feat indeed.

Clearing her throat, Olivia peaks once more over the edge of her paperback. Instead of finding Serena, nose deep in endless letters, the older woman's book is folded in her lap, and her grey eyes trained on Olivia's brown ones.

"Yes?"

"Don't worry about folding the bed spreads, I'll do them." Olivia offers, working to get into her mom's good graces. Her eyes flit to the dryer as the heavy-duty linens that'd been too much for the small washer and dryer unit in the beach house, bounce about.

Olivia knows she's walking on eggshells at that moment; with Serena, each word must be chosen carefully, meticulously articulated. She might have been an English professor, but Serena Benson knew how to cross exam her daughter as if she was a high paid defense attorney.

It's a nasty nervous tick she'd developed at the tender age of three, but she can't help it; Olivia bites at her bottom lip, tearing the thin skin off until she tastes blood.

"You're ripping your lips to shreds again. Stop, Olivia." Serena orders.

At her mother's words, the metallic taste of blood floods Olivia's mouth and a familiar sting sets in. "Ow."

"Why must you be so hard headed?" chides Serena and the older woman rises to her feet and approaches her daughter. She raises a hand to Olivia's face, and Olivia recoils. Her body works on muscle memory, the slap to the face a few days prior still fresh against her skin.

Instead of a burning cheek, however, shock fills Olivia as Serena gently pulls down on her bottom lip, and inspects the bite.

Serena drops her hand from Olivia's chin, reaches up and pushes the long dark tendril from Olivia's face, and a half smile crosses the older woman's countenance. She speaks then, her words soft and feather light, as if she says them too loud their truth will dissipate. "Sometimes, I can only see me in you."

Olivia pauses, uncertain of how to respond. Serena's words yank at her heartstrings and cause tears to pool in her eyes – but she refuses to let them fall. Sixteen years of swipes to the cheek and verbal jabs let Olivia know that this moment will become an all too distant memory soon. Still, she savors it as her brown eyes fall to the checkered tiles and she pretends to study them intently. Even though Olivia knew that this was the guilt Serena always seemed to scrounge together after a bender, she liked to think that this was her real mother - loving, attentive, and soft.

She tucks this moment into the recesses of her memory for a horrid day, in order to remind herself that her mother wasn't always a monster.

Serena's fingers dance gently along her daughter's forehead when a ding sounds the air. The moment breaks, and Serena stands. With a pointed look, she huffs, "now, out of the basket."

Rolling her eyes in jest, Olivia chortles; she climbs out of the basket, and decides that it's the right moment to press her luck. They're in a laundry mat full of people, what was the worst that could happen? Always one for appearances, the professor with a pension for physical punishment, never laid a hand on her daughter whilst in public.

As Serena begins to fill the basket with the items from the dryer, Olivia rocks back on her heels, and weighs her options, nerves setting in. She faintly considers sneaking out – running down the beach like a mad girl under the cover of night, but quickly decides against it. A slap to the face was child's play compared to what Olivia knew her mother was more than capable.

"Are you going to stare off into space or are you going to help me?" Serena's voice cuts through her thoughts and Olivia follows her mother over to a folding table.

Together they begin to fold sheets, blankets, towels and other heavy linens that Serena had deemed too much for the small washer and dryer in the beach house to handle.

The two women are half way through the pile when Olivia clears her throat. "Mom," she starts, her voice quivers with nerves as she fumbles with her words. "Can – _may_ I go out later tonight?"

"Out?" Serena's hands still, the towel between her fingers goes limp. All of her attention is now focused solely on her daughter.

"Yes . . .out. _Purple Rain_ premieres tonight, and before hand I was going to grab a bite to eat with a friend. I won't be out too late and you promised me before we left Manhattan that I'd be able to see the movie while we were here." Olivia begins, her lips graze against the sore skin of her punctured lip and she flinches. Each word that rolls off of her tongue is carefully chosen and painfully articulated.

"A friend?" questions Serena, she drops the towel down on the folding table, willing Olivia to look at her. "By friend do you mean one of Bernie's sons?"

Olivia finishes folding the pillowcase in hand and takes a deep breath. She can feel her mother's eyes on her, the normally grey-blue now icy and invading.

"Maybe." she replies, her voice small, as she suddenly finds a very interesting piece of lint to pick at on the pillowcase she'd just folded.

"Which one?"

"El – Elliot."

A bob of dark brown, almost black hair, peppered with streaks of grey shakes furiously. "The boy whose lap you were perched in like some love sick school girl the other night? Did you think I forgot? _Volk v ovech'yey shkurye._" Serena all but hisses - the last of her words in Russian.

"He's not like that," insists Olivia, who knows that she's skating on ice so thin the bottom of the lake is visible. When Serena Benson rattled off in Russian, the native tongue of her grandparents (Olivia's great-grandparents), Olivia knew to tread with copious amounts of caution.

"From what I saw the other night; he is. Perched on my doorstep with his tongue in my daughter's throat – a boy, who, if I remember correctly, _you_ told me was getting married. Is his fiancée joining you two?" Venom drips from Serena's voice.

Reluctantly, Olivia brings her eyes up from the cloth in hand to meet her mother's. She hopes that if her mother can see the conviction in her eyes, she'll be believed. "He's not getting married. She's not his fiancée; he explained everything to me and we sorted it through –"

"_We_?"

"Not like that, mom, just." she all but begs, her thoughts grim as it becomes more than apparent that her night will be filled with crying in her room.

"No." The one syllable response slips from Serena's lips once more.

"Mom, please." Olivia pleads, her brown eyes large and wide. Mentally she kicks herself over and over again. Now she wouldn't even be able to sneak out; Serena would be watching her like a hawk.

"Olivia, I said no. End of discussion." The look in Serena's eyes reads 'test me' and Olivia knows better than to do so. Testing a hung-over Serena Benson only meant trouble.

Frustration and anger rise in Olivia, and her knuckles go pale as she grabs a towel from the endless strew garments in front of her and grips it tightly. All she'd wanted was one night – one night to feel like a normal teenager - go out on the town with her boyfriend and see a film.

But life with Serena Benson was forever far from normal.

Nearby a dryer dings and more laundry is ready to be folded.

/

She fighting with putting the freshly cleaned fitted sheet back on her bed, when the door to her bedroom bounces open.

Serena Benson stands in the doorway, Anne Sexton in one hand, cup of steaming black coffee in the other. The look on her face is indiscernible to Olivia, who turns and rests against her bed, waiting for her mother to say something.

"You can go."

Olivia's jaw all but drops as the words leave Serena's thin lips. She has to blink a few times before she's able to adequately compute what's happening. Even when the words sink in, they still seem like a cruel joke – or in the least wrong. Surely Serena meant to say 'you'll never go.' Hadn't she?

Blinking, brown eyes bright with confusion, Olivia clears her throat. Disbelief swarms through her. "What?"

"I said: You can go. Don't make me repeat it again."

A squeal of absolute happiness and utter delight rocks the peaceful calm of the room and Olivia jumps for joy. It must be the salt water and the lurking sea, but for some reason Serena's relented.

For the second time that day the behavior of one – if not both of the Benson girls is out of character as Olivia rushes forth and throws her arms around her neck. She's careful not to spill the coffee or knock the book from Serena's hands.

"Thank you, Mom. Thank you!"

Serena stumbles slightly, but stays upright, nodding at her daughter's words. She clears her throat. "There are some conditions that you will follow, however."

Of course, it was too good to be true.

Stepping back, Olivia awaits the hammer of cold hard reality; there was always a catch.

"First, I get outfit approval. If I say no, you don't wear it, understand? Two, he picks you up from here and I talk to him first. Three, you're home no later than 11PM."

Olivia nods; she could deal with that.

/

"It's too short." Serena sounds off as Olivia steps in front of the mirror. She's dressed in a blue and white polka dot dress that ties at the waist. The garment hits just above her knee, and cuts across her chest, thin straps hold it up, and the back dips ever so slightly.

"Mom, Elliot is going to be here in a half an hour; you've nixed everything else I've picked out." With a roll of her brown eyes, Olivia gestures to the pile of tank tops, skirts, and shorts piled on the floor. "I'll wear a pair of shorts underneath."

Arms fold, eyebrows rise, and eyes roll as Serena Benson shakes her head in disapproval.

Frustration running hotly through her veins, Olivia throws her self down onto the pile of clothes. "How about I just wear a chastity belt? Give you the key and never leave the house again?" she grits, her words getting out in front of her before she has the opportunity to assess them.

"Excuse me? I'm letting you go, aren't I? How about you stay home. Spend the night helping me arrange my lesson plans?" the tone of Serena's voice is artic cold- frigid and foreboding.

Olivia knows not to say anything else; she's pushed her non-existent luck way too far today.

Stepping over piles of discarded clothing, Serena crosses the room and heads for the closet. She rifles through it for a moment before pulling a light wash denim jacket from a hanger, and walks over to where Olivia sits. With a flick of the wrist, she tosses it into her daughter's lap.

"Put your bike shorts on and wear this. You're sixteen, not twenty-six; dress like a piece of meat and wolves come out to eat."

A heavy sigh leaves Olivia lips, and she brushes back a stray strand of brown hair that falls into her face as she slips the jacket over her shoulders. The jean material is coarse against her almost burnt tanned skin. As the jacket settles on her shoulders she smiles, remembering the day before and the fun she'd had. For once, she'd been able to enjoy her youth without inhibition.

"When does the boy get here again?" Serena voice cuts through memories of water fights and wet kisses, shaking Olivia from her thoughts.

"Half-hour. We're going for food first, and then the film."

"Food where?"

Olivia shrugs and rises to her feet, wiggling her toes. The pain in her ankle is gone and the swelling is barely visible. "I'm not sure. Probably somewhere around the theater."

Serena's eyes narrow and for the five thousandth time that evening she shakes her head angrily. "I need to know the name of the restaurant and the theater – also the number before you go anywhere. And you're taking my mace with you. Don't be afraid to use it, either. Even if he brushes up against your shoulder the wrong way – aim right at his eyes and kick him, hard. Do you hear me?"

An image of Elliot slinging her over his shoulder from the day before plays in Olivia's head at Serena's words. She forces herself to not smirk at the thought of his strong hands innocently dancing along her soft flesh as they played on the beach. Oh how Olivia wants to defend Elliot, tell Serena how he'd been a complete gentleman the day before, and his own crime had been stealing chaste kisses.

"I'll put it in my purse." she agrees and then walks out the room and into the bathroom to style her hair.

/

Twenty or so minutes later, her stomach is in knots as she spots Elliot walking up the steps of her beach house. Before Serena, who is sat on the couch, glass of wine in hand, can rise to her feet, Olivia runs to the door. She opens it just as Elliot's hand wraps around the handle of the screen door.

Elliot smiles, his expression one of earnestness as he leans in to press a kiss to Olivia's lips. He's denied, however, when Olivia steps back, her eyes wide with worry that Serena, whose grey eyes bounce back and forth between the two teens, will explode in misguided rage.

Instead, she smiles at him, her dark eyes full of apology. "My mom needs the names and if you have them – the numbers to the restaurant and theater we're going to be at."

"I figured as much, Kathy's mom was the same way." Elliot says as he reaches into the pants pocket of his light wash jeans. He's wearing a white tank and a jean jacket to match. His attire is casual and laid back, and Olivia drinks in his physique in fleeting appreciative glances before reaching out to grab the paper he holds out to her.

"Eh-hmmm," Serena clears her throat, and Olivia glances up to find her mother standing only a few feet from the door, where she and Elliot are perched, each hand rested on a hip. Her grey eyes are full of scrutiny and there's a sudden – yet subtle ferociousness to her expression.

Olivia backs away from Elliot and crosses the space to where Serena is, and holds out her hand. "This is the - "

"I'm not deaf, I heard him." she snatches the paper from her daughter and walks to where Elliot stands.

The atmosphere of the room grows cold, stringent and tight, as Serena circles Elliot like a lioness ready to pounce.

"My daughter is to be home at 11:00 PM on the dot – not 11:01, not 11:03. I will be awake and waiting for her. Understand?"

Elliot nods, a crooked smirk crossing his lips. "Yes, Ms. Benson."

Embarrassment builds in Olivia's stomach at Serena's overprotective bit. All she wants to do is link her fingers in Elliot's and run far away, from everything.

"If anything happens to my daughter, I will hurt you."

"Mom!" Olivia's eyes go wide at her mother's threat. She attempts a reassuring smile in Elliot's direction, one that lets him know she feels safe with him, and also lets him know that Serena's only kidding. But she isn't, and Olivia knows she's not.

As if to reiterate what Olivia already knows, Serena, voice level and eyes narrowed, adds, "I'm not joking."

"I didn't think you were," is Elliot's response as he throws a Cheshire like grin between the mother and daughter pair.

Normally Olivia loved the way his smile spread across his face, eyes crinkling as he laughed or joked, but at that moment she feels like the sky is falling down on top of her. She can see the disapproval and disgust in her mother's eyes and knows that Serena is rethinking her decision to let Olivia go. If they don't leave soon, there will be no date.

As if Elliot can sense the wheels turning in her head, he clears his throat and holds out his forearm for her to take. "We do have to get going though if we're going to make it down to the dinner though. Ready, Liv?"

Olivia nods, and runs to the breakfast bar where her purse sits on the counter. She grabs it and locks eyes with Serena, letting her know that she does indeed have the mace, and she knows how to use it.

"I'll be okay, mom." she reassures Serena and grabs onto Elliot's outstretched arm.

Serena nods and takes a few steps back. "I love – be safe, Olivia." She throws one more pointed look in Elliot's direction, and the two teens set out for the night.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Two days late, but hey, this update was a lot quicker than my last few. Amirite? Amirite? Yeah, I don't amuse me either. Anyways, here is the complete EO fluff I promised and guess what, it's extra long. Longer than any chapter I've written so far. I hope you enjoy. The next update might be a bit far off, though. I start a new job Monday and I take the GRE in about a month. I at least left you in a happy place, sort of. Don't hate me. :D

T**o the anon that asked:** Yes! I am Russian, well half Russian on my mother's side. That was my bubbe's favourite proverb. Glad you recognised it. Haha. :)

**Disclaimer:** I wish I owned this show.

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><p>Chapter 12: Official First Dates<p>

She's a bundle of nerves and jitters, jumbled words and rosy cheeks as Elliot shuffles them through the overflowing dinner. Her hand is tucked tightly in his and she still can't believe that she's actually _here_; her mother had let her go.

Yet, through all of the excitement and disbelief, her nerves were getting the best of her. Instead of chalking it up and raising quiet hell with Elliot, as she had the day before, she was quiet – reserved. The butterflies in her stomach were marching in droves, ready to spill from her lips at a moments notice. She'd never truly been on a date with someone she was absolutely smitten with, and she feared her inexperience would shine through.

"Right here, El!" a disembodied voice yells over the crowd.

Elliot's hand then tightens around Olivia's and suddenly her body is being tugged sideways, and they're following behind and older woman, a redhead, who Olivia assumes is the waitress. She leads them to a semi-circular booth near the back of the restaurant, tucked into a corner. Her fingers quickly dart out to grab the reserved sign and she sets two menus down on the sea blue linoleum tabletop.

He lets go of Olivia's hand and gestures for her to slide into the booth. As she does so, her brown eyes catch sight of the woman's name-tag, it reads 'Red' and she smiles as the deliberate irony.

"I think that's the first genuine smile I've seen from you since I picked you up," comes Elliot's voice, and Olivia's face falters. She'd hoped she'd been hiding her nerves better.

Pink lips part to apologize, to form a somewhat explanation to her tense behavior, but Red interrupts them.

"What can I get ya to drink, sug?" She asks; her words aimed at Olivia.

"Oh uhm, I . . ." the words trip from Olivia's mouth in an attempt to respond. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Elliot's Cheshire like grin spread across his face and she can hear his low bravado chuckle.

"Relax, Liv." he instructs, his tone light, easy, and comforting.

Olivia ducks her head, her cheeks flushing red in embarrassment, and her hands fall to her lap. Nervous energy radiates off of her in droves and she can't believe that she's blushing at a question as simple as what she'd like to drink.

It's almost as if Elliot can sense the nervousness within her because the next moment his hand is underneath the table, and his fingers are interlocking with hers. He squeezes tightly, though not tight enough to hurt her.

"You like chocolate milk shakes?" he asks and Olivia nods. "Want to share a super large?"

She nods again and finally draws her eyes up to meet his. Blue orbs, oceans deep stare back at her, and nervous breathy laughter expels from her lips.

"I'd like that…" she offers awkwardly.

"Oh young love," interjects Red, she's clutching her order pad to her chest and there's a smile as wide as the Mississippi delta stretched across her face. "God, to be able to go back…" she continues, her eyes fogging over perhaps in memory as she stares off into the distance.

Red's reminiscing elicits uninhibited laughter from Olivia, and Elliot follows suit. As he laughs, his grip grows tighter, and Olivia's palm starts to sweat. She becomes acutely aware of just how their hands fit together; his large fingers taking up the space between her thin one's as if the space was constructed just for it.

The tension breaks, and Red shakes herself from her reverie. "Oh hush, one day both of you'll be my age. Just wait," both her eyebrows quirk upwards. "I'll be back with that deluxe shake and to take your orders," then she's off.

Much to Olivia's dismay, Elliot lets go of her hand and settles into the booth. His arm snakes around the back of the booth, and his hand rests on the other side of her shoulder. Slowly but surely their laughter fades into a comfortable silence, and she leans leaning into Elliot's side. The familiarity of him at her side returns, and all the nerves drain from her.

"Good now?" Elliot asks, glancing down at her.

"I'm good. Sorry about a few minutes ago, too. It's just – I've never gone out with someone I really like before and I'm - "

"Really like, eh?"

Chortling, Olivia rolls her eyes at his words, a sheepish grin taking hold of her face, and she shakes her head. "Really, that's what you take out of that?"

"What can I say, I enjoy a bit of an ego boost every now and then."

"You're a bit of an arrogant bastard."

"I hear that a lot." His large shoulders shrug in apparent agreement, and then he leans in, pressing his lips to Olivia's ear. "I would've told you back at the beach house, but your mom looked like she wanted to murder me. You look amazing."

For the second time that night, Olivia's cheeks flush red; she ducks her head, and turns her frame into his muttering, "You're not too bad yourself."

Before Elliot has a chance to respond with no doubt a conceited comment, Olivia presses her lips to his, effectively silencing him.

It's the second time that she's taken the initiative in their short relationship and kissed him. Unlike the other times where she's been the first to reach out and press her lips to someone else's, there isn't desperation in her kiss. She knows he won't pull back, but instead reciprocate, as he does know.

His mouth opens against her, and their lips mesh together. The little bit of stubble that grows above his upper lip tickles her, and his breathing is warm against her skin. The arm he had slung around the back of the booth drops to her shoulder, and he's pulling her closer.

They're so lost in each other, in that moment, that neither of them notice Red, a vase shaped glass in hand filled to the brim with a thick chocolate substance, standing in front of them.

"So should I come back or?" Red interrupts, a smile on her face and a hand tapping expectantly on the tabletop.

Olivia breaks away first, her cheeks the color of Red's flaming locks as she finds that she's fisted the fabric of Elliot's shirt in one hand, and the nails of her other hand are digging into the sea foam coloured booth. She lets go and smiles in embarrassment.

"Anyone ever tell you you've got pretty bad timing?" Elliot asks with a tint of red to his cheeks.

"My ex-husband when I caught him with his secretary. You and your girlfriend ready to order, El?" Red deadpans, and she drops two straws down in front of them.

It's the second time she's heard herself being referred to as Elliot's girlfriend, and she almost wants to ask Red to repeat her words, just to know she's not hearing things.

_She's Elliot's girlfriend. _

"I think we'll need –" Elliot starts, but already embarrassed by her previous actions, Olivia interrupts.

"I'll just take a BLT."

"I'll take the same, actually; with a side of coleslaw."

Red's hand moves across the pad of paper and she nods in understanding. "Gotcha, sizzling pigs on toast." She turns to walk away, but almost immediately turns back. "Make sure you come back up for air every now and then."

As she walks away, Elliot shakes his head and works his free hand against his jaw, a cocky grin on his face.

Both of his thick brown eyebrows quirk up and he leans in towards Olivia. "Round two?"

"I think we better drink up," she suggests, pushing away from him just a bit and then grabs one of the straws from the table. Ripping the tip off, she brings the straw to her lips and blows on it until the paper flies off the end and lightly smacks Elliot in the face. Olivia gives him her best angelic smile and then sticks her straw in the quickly melting milkshake.

/

"So," Elliot starts in between bites of french-fries that he's dipping in coleslaw, "you're mom is a professor?"

"Technically she's an associate professor – it's just a step under professor; same work, a lower pay, though, but she teaches English at Columbia." Olivia answers as takes a small bite of her sandwich and then pulls a piece of stray lettuce off her plate and pops it into her mouth.

They've been going back and forth for about thirty or so minutes, oscillating between witty banter and semi serious conversation. Olivia's learned that Elliot hates sushi and is allergic to strawberries, and Olivia's informed Elliot of her hatred for legwarmers and an allergy to peaches. The diner is still abuzz with life, but Elliot and Olivia pay very little attention to their surroundings; every now and then Red stops by, to see if they're in need of anything.

"Are there any perks in being the daughter of a professor?" he questions.

Olivia shrugs, not quite yet ready to open up about her mother – nor really wanting to do so. She figures Elliot would be better off not knowing about the complicated woman that was Serena Benson.

"Well, when she travels for work – conferences and what not, I get to go." she offers, and her words seem to suffice a curious Elliot because he nods.

"Where's the best place you've ever been?"

She doesn't even have to think about her answer, quickly she replies, "Spain!"

Elliot's eyebrows furrow together and he tilts his head, nodding, and he appears thoroughly impressed. "Really, Spain?"

"Yeah," Olivia brightens, the conversation on a track she's happy to discuss. "I lived in Valladolid for roughly five months last year. My mom was a guest professor of English at la Universidad de Valladolid. I loved it."

"What was it like?"

"Amazing. I mean, I did miss home and my friends, but I learned a lot of Spanish, which I plan on studying in college. It was such a beautiful place with really sweet people. And the food – I ate this stuff called paella. Oh god, it was like a small piece of heaven in my mouth." she chatters, thinking back to the prior year. At first she'd been horrified to learn that she'd be spending the beginning of her freshman year of high school in another country, but she'd managed to find her footing. The time away from the states had done wonders for Serena as well. She'd drunk so little and the mother daughter pair had spent so much time getting to know one another.

"So you speak Spanish then?"

"Sí, mi español es un poco oxidado. No tengo a nadie para practicarlo con." The words roll off of Olivia's tongue effortlessly, though she's certain she's messed up somewhere in there. Nonetheless, though, she still smiles wide, waiting for him to comment on her language skills.

"Damn, you're good!" Elliot exclaims, clearly a mixture of amused and impressed. "So, how would I say something like kiss me, please?'"

"Bésame, por favor." she replies, though wondering once again if she's made a mistake.

A cocky grin spreads across his face; he whispers "okay," and then kisses her.

His lips taste like chocolate and salt, as they move along hers. One of his hands lands on her bare knee and she drinks the moment in. It's a Friday night, she's out with her boyfriend, eating dinner in a diner, and on her way to see what could possibly be her favourite film; she could get used to this.

"Don't you two have somewhere else to be besides playing kiss face every two seconds in my diner?" comes Red's voice again. She's standing in front of the both, arms folded, an auburn eyebrow cocked.

The two break apart at her words and Elliot quickly checks his watch. Olivia's almost forgotten that they had an endgame to their date.

"Shit, we're gonna be late." He mutters, and then pulls his wallet from his back pocket. "How much do I owe you, Red?"

"$11.60."

He tosses fifteen dollars down on the table and looks at a flustered Olivia. "Ready?"

"Ready."

And together, hand in hand, they slide out of the booth and head for the theater.

/

They reach the box office just as the 'sold out' sign is going up. Olivia's heart drops to her feet and she feels as if someone's punched her. She knows there will be tomorrow to see the show, but she also knows the inquisition Serena's preparing for when she returns home.

_What happened at the beginning of the film? The middle? The end? _

Ineloquently a subtle fuck rolls from Olivia's lips and she openly pouts.

Elliot catches her words and chuckles, casting her a sideways glance. "You worry too much." he tells her, pulling on her hand and leading them to the ticket counter. He knocks on the window and Olivia tilts her head in confusion.

"El, it says that it's sold out." she states the obvious and he throws a wink in her direction.

Behind the glass a curly haired African American girl turns around. She's wearing thick glasses and a nametag that reads 'Monique.'

"You're late, asshole," comes Monique's biting response to Elliot's appearance and she crosses her arms over her chest.

Laughing appreciatively at the girl's snarky response, Olivia asks, "I take it you know her?"

Elliot nods. "I sincerely apologize and I throw myself at your feet in mercy." his replies insincerely, a large grin on his countenance and he winks.

Behind the counter, Monique rolls her greenish brown eyes and glances at Olivia. "How much is he paying you to take pity on him?"

Laughter dances from Olivia's lips again and she shrugs nonchalantly, a smirk pulling at her lips. "Free movie and dinner; think I should run before it's too late?" jokingly she asks, forgetting that mere moments ago she was close to tears at the prospect of missing what she was certain was destined to become her favourite film of all time.

With feigned insult, Elliot drops her hand and clutches his chest. "I'm hurt, Liv." he teases and on the other side of the glass Monique snorts.

"Run," Monique deadpans before she reaches underneath the desk she stands at and lifts up the very coveted Purple Rain tickets. "You owe me fifteen big ones."

"Fifteen? The tickets are only seven!"

"And you were late; I could get fired for this, and let's just say supply and demand."

"You're a shark." Elliot bites, reaching into his back pocket; he grabs his wallet and then pulls out two ten-dollar bills and a five. He slides them underneath the glass opening of the box office window.

On the other side, Monique holds up the bills for inspection and then slides the tickets over.

"Nice doing business with you, Stabler," she teases, a generous smile now spread across her face. "By the way, I'm Monique," she adds on, her words directed at Olivia. "And I meant it when I said run," though there was little conviction to her tone.

Elliot holds the tickets out for Olivia, who is thoroughly amused, to take.

"Olivia," Olivia replies, holding her hand out for Monique to shake, realizing her mistake, there's three inches of glass that separates them, and instead grabs the tickets.

"Come on, the film's starting." Elliot says, taking Olivia's free hand, and then they're off.

Behind them Monique's fading voice yells, "And bring my Mo-Mo next time you come!"

/

Roughly an hour later, _Purple Rain_ is winding down. On screen Prince takes the mic and dedicates his detrimental do or die performance to his father. The song begins and the emotion on The Kid's face strikes a nerve in Olivia. Her own mother comes to mind and for a fleeting moment she wonders what she'd do if her Serena had decided one day to end it all. The possibilities of finding her mother face down; drowning on her own vomit or something of the sorts was an all too real possibility for the young brunette. The ominous and foreboding thoughts cause tears to rise in Olivia's eyes and they silently stream down her face. As if he can sense her sadness, Elliot's hand that grips the armrest next to her, relinquishes its hold and travels down to her lap. His mitt like hand seizes her smaller, daintier fingers and his digits rest between hers.

Lightly Olivia squeezes his hand and then rests her head against Elliot's shoulder.

A smile dances across her face and she shakes the dark thoughts from her head, and returns all her attention to the film.

/

Roughly fifteen minutes later, the entire theater is abuzz with clapping and dancing – Olivia included. She stands on her feet, swaying to the beat of 'Baby I'm a Star.' Every now and then she casts a backward glance at Elliot, throwing her dark hair over her shoulder with a flourish, and shaking her head in disapproval. Elliot's quite possibly one of the only people in the very packed theater still seated.

With determination in her eyes, Olivia shimmies the mere centimeters to where he sits and beckons him to stand.

Elliot shakes his head; hands out in surrender. "I don't dance."

"_I don't dance_." Olivia mocks in a voice far too feminine to be Elliot's, hands on her hips. "No boyfriend of mine is going to stay stationary when Prince is playing." she states matter-of-factly – head tilted as she waits for him to challenge her on the topic. The word boyfriend rolls of her tongue so easily that it isn't until the person next to her accidentally bumps into her, and she's thrown into Elliot's lap does she realize what she's said.

"Boyfriend, huh?" he beams, catching her effortlessly.

A long tendril of brown hair escapes from behind her ear and falls into her line of sight. "Yeah," she answers casually, though her heart threatens to thunder from her chest at the way he's looking at her. "Boyfriend, I s'pose."

/

It's nearing 10:30 when Elliot pulls into the Stabler family beach house. He cuts the engine and drums his fingers along the steering wheel.

In the passenger's seat, Olivia hums the words to Darling Nikki, swaying ever so slightly in place. She's absolutely giddy at the night she's had – and even more so giddy about the minutes she has left to spare.

Her eyes cast sideways down the beach, to her own abode and she sees that the living room light is on, but she just can't care at the moment. Serena's consumed Olivia's thoughts more times than she'd like to admit that night, so for the next thirty minutes would be Serena free.

Turning to Elliot, she smiles brightly, parting her lips to suggest a late night beach walk, when he beats her to the punch.

"Want to get out of here; head down the beach?" he asks, his blue eyes falling on his own dimly lit house, and that's when Olivia realizes that Joe's car isn't in the driveway.

Faintly, she wonders where he could be 10:30 at Friday night, presumably without his family, but shrugs off the Stabler patriarch's absence as nothing.

Instead she responds, "more than anything," and they head out of the car.

/

About a half of a mile or so down from their beaches houses, the two sit where the earth gives way to the sea. The tide is lazy and slow, ebbing up at a snail's pace every so often; the air stagnate, yet cool.

Up in the sky, stars twinkle and the moon sits high, casting bright light onto Olivia's olive skin. Her long legs are stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle, and she's leaning back on her hands. Next to her, on her left side rests her canvas shoes.

On her right side sits Elliot, his position mimicking Olivia's.

They're resting in comfortable silence, much like the night they'd met, now almost two weeks ago. Olivia tries to think of her life two weeks prior and finds her memory drawing a blank. She can go through the motions, the monotony of every day life, but she refuses to think of how alone she'd felt then.

And now here she is, sitting in silence, and though alone with her thoughts, she's not alone. Next to her she can hear the low humdrum of Elliot's breathing, and out of the corner of her eye she can see his looming figure.

Suddenly the urge to break the silence fills her and she turns towards him.

Softly, she asks, "What are you thinking?" curious to know what has him so pensive.

A mischievous smirk takes hold of his lips and his hands that rests next to hers inches over until it's resting atop Olivia's. Gently he draws his finger calloused fingertips up her arm and she shudders. His touch simultaneous sets her skin on fire and sends chills up her spine.

"If I could get away with kissing you," he whispers.

Olivia's mouth parts in anticipation, and she licks her lips, gently nodding. Fingertips become a palm, and he's gently sliding his hand up her shoulder and around to the back up her neck. He guides her mouth to his. Lips soft, breath warm, he gently tugs at her bottom lip, his kiss far more sensuous than it had the previous times they'd touch this way. His tongue slides into her mouth, and his fingers kneed the back of her neck. Olivia then finds her body working of it's own volition.

She's suddenly straddling his laps and can't remember uncrossing her legs, or making her way into this position. Elliot's left hand is now tangled in her chocolate coloured locks, and his right is dancing up her thigh, to the hem of her dress.

One of her right hands gently grazes the flesh of his neck with her nails and her left grips his upper arm.

Coherent thoughts and forward thinking are non-existent in that moment. In the pit of her belly warmness grows, and her skin is on fire. She wants to feel more of him, all of him.

Her hands drop from their current occupation and slide down his chest, she caresses his skin through the fabric, blindly feeling for the hem of his shirt. It takes her a minute, but once she finds it, she dips both hands underneath his shirt.

An audible hiss drops from his lips and melts into her mouth. The hand that had been gently tangled in Olivia's hair now drops down her side, tracing her silhouette; his other hand inches under her dress, climbing higher and higher, over the fabric of her bicycle shorts. Ticklish, she giggles at the feel of his palm along her side, and her laughter breaks their kiss.

Nonetheless, his swollen lips sink down to her neck and graze across her pulse point. A faint breathy moan falls from her lips and her nails dig into his flesh. She's so lost in the new sensations he's making her feel, one's she's never experience before, that it's only when his hips jolt upward and his hand underneath her dress grazes across her core that her sense come back to her.

Both of her palms flatten against his chest and she drops her head, pushing away from him ever so slightly. Realization dawns on her about what and where their current actions will lead, and as much as she wants him – this –she knows it has to come to an end.

"Elliot, stop." she whispers and she wonders if he can hear the erratic beating of her heart. His hips jolt upward again, and an involuntary moan falls from her lips; her thoughts cloud over and she takes a deep breath, repeating herself once more, this time more assertively.

"El, I said stop."

As if she was burning metal, Elliot's hands immediately abandon their ministrations and shrink to his sides. He lifts his head up and his blue eyes strain to meet Olivia's brown one's, and he's pushing her off of his lap and getting to his feet.

He paces in back and forth, seemingly waging an internal war, as he runs a hand down his face. "I'm such a stupid fuck!" he growls in huffs of breath.

Olivia watches in a mixture of amusement and worry, listening as he berates himself. There's a panicked look on his face when he finally turns back to her and she can't believe that the most erotic and hot moment of her life had just come and gone in a blink of the eye.

Babbling nonsensically, Elliot speaks, "fuck, Liv, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean – I thought - I mean my body. Fuck. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

With swollen lips and weak knees, Olivia forces herself to stand, too. "No, El, you didn't. And I'm sorry I just – I'm not ready to go to where that was going…" she starts, "and I uhm, I'm a uh…I'm a virgin." Embarrassment rises in her at the confession and she looks down at the white sand, digging her toes into it. She can't look at him. She refuses to see the fury in his yes when it dawns on him that he's dating someone so inexperienced.

But it's not fury that rests in his eyes as he closes the space he's put between them and tilts her chin upward, silently imploring her to meet his gaze; its understands – it's _love_.

"We take things at your pace here, Benson, not mine." he asserts, Brooklyn accent thick. "However fast, however slow, I follow your lead."

Olivia nods, and expels a breath she didn't know she was holding when her eyes catch sight of the watch that rests on Elliot's wrist.

"Shit! I've got to go." she yells, and then without a moment's notice, takes off running back towards where they'd come from.

Behind she leaves a confused Elliot and her shoes.

It's 11PM on the dot; she's going to be late.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: My late night, early morning updates are everything huh? Sorry for such a delay. Stressed doesn't begin to describe my current state right (new job, lsat and gre studying) now. I'll try to get the next chapter up a little faster, but i really can't make any promises, but to make up for the long delay, this chapter is extra long! Also a big thanks to _lucyspencer_ for listening to my endless ranting. She helped me through my writers block!

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><p>Chapter 13: I Won't Say I'm In Love<p>

Her heart is pounding in her ears as she pushes her legs faster and faster. The burning in her calves threatening to level her as her freshly healed ankle begs for mercy, but she doesn't relent. She has to get home – now.

She runs for a few more moments until her beach abode is in sight. Her bare feet hit the deck with a resounding thud, and she leans over to grab her knees for balance.

Sweaty and out of breath from her race against the clock, Olivia barely has time to process her surroundings or to realize that she isn't alone on the porch when Serena seizes her upper arms in a vice grip.

"Oh god; Olivia, are you okay? Is everything all right? Why were you running? Did he hurt you? Is that why you're late? Olivia, Olivia?" The questions rapidly fall from Serena's lips, and her nails dig into the jean material of Olivia's jacket. "

"I'm okay, mom. I'm fine. I just lost track of time, I swear. I was just down the beach," explains Olivia, slightly thrown off guard by her mother's reaction to her tardiness. She'd expected a hostile Serena, not a scared mother.

"Are you sure? You can tell me if he hurt you. Did he do anything to you?"

"No, mom. I'm fine. I promise." At Olivia's words Serena steps back, her slate eyes roaming along Olivia's figure as if she's checking for any bruises, suspicious marks, or any signs of struggles.

Once satisfied, the older woman steps back, and suddenly slate turns to black, and her grip on daughter's arms tighten.

Olivia's blood runs cold at the look on her mother's face and she falters in footing. She stumbles for a moment, certain that she resembles something short of a wreck. The wind from the run down the beach had combed through her tresses and she's missing both her shoes and purse. Her skin is still hot and her face still flushed, and she wonders if Elliot's handprints adorn her skin like a scarlet letter, if Serena can see the trail he'd left from the tops of her thighs, to the small of her back, mere minutes prior.

"You're late," Serena states, her voice level – flat. Worry and concern no longer present.

The emotionless tone of her mother's voice shakes Olivia to her core, and throws her off balance. She's not certain what or rather whom she was expecting to return after her date, but a visibly irate Serena was easier to navigate than an emotionally ambiguous one.

This is the Serena she'd been originally expecting.

A breeze picks up and Olivia wonders if this is the calm before the storm she's certain will hit her – both figuratively and literally in seconds.

Silently she begs, 'Please don't be drunk.'

"Only by a few min –" Olivia begins, but stops short of finishing her sentence. Thin ice doesn't even begin to describe the terrain she's treading. "I know. I'm sorry."

Serena's grip tightens and Olivia can feel her mother's hot and surprisingly alcohol free, breath on her face.

"I told you to be back by 11P.M, not 11:13."

"I lost track of time, I'm sorry. I was just down the beach . . ."

"Down the beach doing what?"

"Just sitting near the water and talking."

It's a bitter laugh that rips from Serena's throat then, and Olivia shrinks back as much as Serena's grip allots. She brings her knees together and looks down at her feet, and a strand of wind swept dark hair falls into her face.

"I was born at night, Olivia, not last night, and I was young once. I had a life before you were forced inside me."

Olivia's voice is meek and small as she whispers a simple, "I know."

She does know, she's known since she was a child, but only had only truly grasped her mother's words a few years ago.

A lump rises in Olivia's throat and she has to force back a sob. Her brown eyes falls to the wood of the porch and she remembers the first time she'd actually been old enough to understand the concept of rape in regards to her conception. It'd been at the tender age of 13. Serena had stumbled in, drunk as usual, to find Olivia sitting at the breakfast bar located between the kitchen and living room of their apartment.

In a drunken frenzy, she'd launched at Olivia, screaming and crying, hitting and ripping at any part of Olivia she could whilst shouting 'no and don't.' Luckily for the young girl her grandmother Galina had come over early that evening and had only gone to the bathroom. Somehow Galina had managed to pry the hysterical Serena from a distraught and defenseless Olivia.

That night Olivia had gone home with Galina, and Galina had explained to Olivia that, as Serena had stated time and time before, her father was indeed a bad man, one of the worst types of vile creatures; he was a rapist. And Olivia only existed because he had raped her mother. It was then that a young Olivia had decided to eventually use her life to atone for her creation.

"Then you know that I'm not stupid enough to believe you were _only_ sitting by the water, then? Where are you shoes? Your bag?"

Olivia frowns, eyes dropping to her bare feet. She'd been in such a hurry to get home that she'd unknowingly reenacted a scene from Cinderella, her least favorite of fairy tales.

It's an uphill battle in the believability department now, but she knows she has to try. Scared, she fights to keep her voice even. "I must have left them down the beach, by the water when we were playing in the sand. But that's all we did; played in the sand." And it was the partial truth – they had played in the sand.

"Olivia." Serena grates through gritted teeth. "Look at me."

But Olivia can't, she scared to look at her mother, afraid to see the storm brewing inside of her mother for she knew the damage it could do.

"Look at me," Serena implores again and she's shaking Olivia now. "Look at me, damn it!"

But Olivia doesn't, and Serena's grip drops from one of Olivia's arms and she's reeling her hand back ready to strike.

"Please don't!" Olivia shouts and her body stiffens, awaiting the blow. Her eyes slam shut and the world around her darkens. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew tonight would end this way.

One, two, three . . . twenty seconds pass by, but the familiar sting doesn't set; the blow doesn't come. Instead, the hold on her arms is completely gone.

Cautiously, Olivia lifts her eyelids to find Serena with one hand on her hip and the other pinching the bridge of her nose, breathing deeply.

It is then that Olivia sees the years of anguish and pain etched into the lines of her mother's face. Crows feet and laugh lines marred by worry and sleepless nights, heavy drinking, and snarling demons. She thinks of the photo she'd found of Serena as a young woman, starting her first day at Hudson. The photo Olivia keeps tucked away in her long neglected journal as a reminder that beneath the anger and pain, Serena was just human, a girl forced to grow up way before her time.

"I don't want you to end up like me. I don't want you to be like _him_." Serena whispers and her shoulders slink forwards and her position slackens as if she's too tired to argue or speak anymore. When she looks at Olivia, her slate eyes are red and brimming with tears. "I want so much more for you. You're _my_ little girl."

Tears swell in Olivia's eyes and she takes a deep breath, and then nods, wishing that her mother's moods didn't come and go more than the tide. "I don't want to be like him, either. I'm sorry, mom. But I promise. Elliot didn't try anything. He was a perfect gentlemen, I just lost track of time. I promise."

"Okay, Olivia. Okay." Defeat and exhaustion battle for prominence in Serena's tone as she speaks; she's a live wire, a raw nerve, open and anxious; Olivia's never seen her like this, at least not sober.

"Mom, I'm - " the sorry dies on her lips as Serena holds a hand out, effectively silencing Olivia.

"Just go to bed."

And she does.

/

It's 11AM, and someone's going to die; who exactly, remains a mystery, but they're dead. Just as soon as Olivia can untangle her body from the thin sheet she'd used to cover up with last night.

The long forgotten phone that sits on the wall, next to the refrigerator is ringing off the hook and has been for the last three or so minutes. Too groggy and tired from spending her night straddling the liminal space between conscious and unconscious, Olivia's exhausted. After the porch incident with Serena, she'd laid down only to have her body launch a premenstrual attack on itself. Heavy cramping along with an anxious mind, too reeved up from the night's events, kept her awake and wishing on stars.

Once a great pastime for Olivia, wishing on stars had all but died for the young brunette. She'd given it up when she'd turned the tender age of 12, realizing that no amount of wishing in the world would sober her mother. But last night she'd found herself starring out the window, attempting to reconcile the altercation she'd had with Serena. When her mind had finally given up on making some semblance of the situation (she'd truly expected Serena to backhand her instead of walk away), she'd settled in, in replaying the night she'd had with Elliot, from dinner, to the film, to the almost heavy petting on the beach.

Fondly she'd recalled how his hands had felt on her skin and how he'd been so gentle with her, accepting her confession of the utmost chastity without question and stating that they move at her pace. He was everything she'd never known she wanted.

And she was almost certain that she was in love with him. Like – yes; lust – definitely; and now love. They'd connected so easily, without question or force.

But nights spent wishing on a star and wondering about her boyfriend had left the teen girl with little to no sleep, which is why the phone was the enemy.

Untangling her long, tanned legs from the thin cotton material, Olivia sit up, shoving her messy locks from her face. It's going to be a hot day, she can tell just from the stagnant warm air and curling locks.

With great effort, Olivia gets to her feet, and exits her room, the phone continuing to ring as she shuffled down the short hall and to the kitchen. She glances in the direction of Serena's room as she bypasses the shut sandy wooden door. Briefly Olivia wonders if after she'd gone to bed at her mother's behest, had Serena spent the night boozing it up until she'd fallen into bed drunk – that was the only explanation Olivia had as to why her mother, who often more than naught unplugged their land line in order to avoid telemarketers, hadn't rushed from her room and ripped the phone from the wall.

The phone is pressed to Olivia's ear and she's fighting through a yawn to greet whoever the mystery caller is when she hears a girlish screech, closely followed by a fit of giggles, and a familiar Texan accent. Abbie.

"LIV!" Abbie shouts into the phone, and Olivia grumbles internally, pulling the phone from her ear. "DID'YA SEE IT, YET?"

"Good morning to you, too, Abbie. . ." Olivia deadpans. She's too tired for this right now.

"DID'YA SEE IT?" comes Abbie's voice again, and Olivia imagines her friend bouncing in place, telephone cord wrapped around her.

"If I say yes, will you stop screaming?"

But Olivia's words only cause more squeals and screams of delight to filter through the phone and she has to put a hand over the earpiece until the line goes semi silent.

"Wasn't it just everything?"

"Abbie."

"What's your favourite song?"

"Abbie."

"Oh god, Prince without his shirt. Do you think it's legal to literally throw someone in a dumpster? Did you cry? Did you dance? Who'dya go with?"

"ABBIE." Olivia grates forcefully, wondering if twenty years from now technology will be so advance that she'll be able to reach through the phone and grab ahold of someone who isn't listening.

"Yeah?" Abbie asks and the confusion that slips through her southern accent causes Olivia to roll her eyes.

"I can't answer your questions if you don't stop talking long enough to let me. And you're going to want to hear what I have to say." Olivia says, excitement coursing in her veins as she forgets the cramping in her stomach and jumps in place. She's been in LBI for just about two weeks and hasn't had much time to call her best friend. Hell, she'd even forgotten that she'd given Abbie the number to the beach house.

"Well, y'know I can't help it. Now spill the beans and stir the pot."

"What?"

"Tell me what you _think_ I'd want to hear."

"Oh right. So I did see the movie last night."

A screech on the other end of the line causes Olivia to pull the phone away from her ear again.

"Abbie, stop screeching!"

"Sorry."

"Okay, so I saw the movie…as a part of a date!" her own squeal slips through now.

"A DATE? What? With who?"

Olivia smiles into the receiver, her mind floating back to Elliot and the night before. "Just a guy. . ." she plays coy.

"Mommie Dearest let you go out with 'just a guy'?" Abbie asks.

Olivia bristles; hating the nickname Abbie had given Serena. She knew that Abbie didn't mean any harm by the name, and as an outside in the Benson household, non-privy to Olivia's origins, she didn't understand. "Don't call her that."

"I know, I'm sorry. Now tell me about this guy."

She peers into the hall, eyes falling on the shut door of her mother's bedroom. Her eyes scan the wood, waiting for any inclination that Serena's awake, a beat passes and nothing. "His name's Elliot and Abbie, he's so good to me. He is. He talks with this Brooklyn accent and he's got the brightest, bluest eyes you've ever seen. He constantly asks me how I am and I feel like I could tell him anything. We've spent a few nights just talking and talking. And some times we don't have to talk at all. We'll just sit side by side and watch the sunset or hold hands . . ..", she rambles on and on, mindlessly wrapping the phone cord around her right index finger.

"Olivia Jayne Benson, you're gushing." Abbie comments, and Olivia's cheeks ache from grinning so wide.

"Shut up!" she says with no conviction in her tone. "I'm am not! He's just, I don't know. He gets me, Abs, and when he kisses me I swear to god the world stops."

"Kissing, stopping worlds, Brooklyn accents, bright blue eyes? Are you sexing it up with beach boy, too, Benson?"

"No!" But she wants to.

"Well, why the hell not? Come on, you're still not on that 'dude is a wolf' that avec shukraryea –whatever the hell your mom says in French."

"Russian. And I'm not. Elliot isn't like that, and we've only kissed. We've only been dating officially for a week."

"You tried to make out with a fifty year old at a holiday thing last year."

"He was forty-one and please don't bring that up."

"What about that kid from your mom's Intro to English or literature or whatever course, you let him stick his tongue down your throat _and_ get to third base."

Olivia outwardly cringes at the miss steps she's made in romance. She can account for the boy from her mom's English course just fine. He'd told her she was pretty and asked if he could buy her a soda; she'd batted her lashes and went for it. The forty year old was a lot harder to justify in her psyche. She'd barely known him aside for the time she'd sat in his office and helped him sort his books while waiting for her mom to finish a sit down conference with a student.

"Can we not rehash every mistake I've made in sixteen short years?" Olivia asks sarcastically, running her fingers through her hair and pulling on the t-shirt that was starting to stick to her. "Besides, I like Elliot, I don't want to ruin that."

"You sound like Sandy from Grease after she met Danny Zuko, and now you decide to put the goods away?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you, and anyways El and I have already, discussed it; he wants to take things at my pace."

"Well, pace your bony ass straight into his bed and his head board."

"Seriously, Abbie?"

"Look, you sound like you're in love with him. Why not love every inch of him? I think you're the last person in our class that is still a virgin anyways."

"Are you actually bragging about that?" Olivia defended, incredulity in her voice as she untangled the phone cord from her fingers and found herself yawning.

"All I'm saying is go for it, Liv. What if this is the last you'll ever see of him?"

"But it's not, he just lives in Brooklyn."

"Have you met your mother?"

As if on q, then, the door to Serena Benson's bedroom door creaks open. A blurry eye'd Serena, dressed in an oversized Hudson Columbia t-shirt and a silk pajama pants walks out, her salt and pepper hair piled messily atop her head. Olivia can tell she's spent the better part of her night crying. She walks over to the breakfast bar and sits.

"Olivia," Serena croaks, and Olivia sighs heavily. "Who is that on the phone? That Texan?"

"Tell Serena I said hello to her, too," comes Abbie's voice from the phone.

"Yeah, it's Abbie, mom." Olivia answers. "Gotta go, Abs. I'll call you back later."

"Whatever, Liv. Go bang your boy. Bye!"

The phone clicks off and Olivia rolls her eyes, hanging up; she glances at Serena, an uneasiness settling over her.

"Morning, mom." she mumbles, the cramping in her stomach suddenly making a full-blown return. The pain causes her to double over slightly and groan. Once the spasm passes, she stands and walks over to the sink, dumping yesterday's stale coffee out.

"Are you okay?" Serena asks, stifling a yawn with shaky hands, and Olivia knows that she's completely sober.

"Just cramps."

"Go get an aspirin, I'll finish the coffee."

Olivia nods dutifully, and paddles her way into the bathroom; she opens the cabinet and grabs the pill bottle to discover that it's empty. With a low sigh, she heads back into the kitchen, empty bottle in hand. She watches as Serena stands, elbows bent and on the counter, crying.

Clearing her throat, Olivia tries to find her words, feeling intrusive – almost parasitic as she disturbs Serena. "We're out, I think I saw a drug store on my way to the theater yesterday. I don't mind walking to get it . . ."

Serena nods, wiping at her eyes, and turns her back to Olivia. "Yeah, you can take the car, though. I don't want you walking alone. Keys and money are in my purse."

"Okay, mom." Olivia responds. She wants to ask her mother what's going on, why she's in such a state, but stops herself. She knows the answer because it's always the answer; it's her. "Is there anything else you want?"

"No, just go."

Olivia turns to head into her room to change when Serena shout for her. Turning back to towards her mother, she's surprised to find her mother's arms wrapping around her. Olivia stiffens, surprised and wary. Serena gently presses a kiss to the top of Olivia's head then, and whispers, "You're _mine_. _My_ daughter. _Mine_. No one else will ever have you."

The conviction in Serena's tone sends chills up Olivia's spine, as she keeps her chin pressed into the crook of her mother's neck, and watches as the black liquid drips painfully slow into the pot. A few more seconds tick by and Serena releases, sniffling as she does so. "Now go."

So Olivia does.

/

She's standing in the drug store with an oversized tote bag she'd dug out of her mother's luggage slung over her shoulder. In one hand she holds a box of generic aspirin and in the other a box of St. Joseph's aspirin. She's comparing the prices of each, a look of concentration on her face as she tries her hand at some mental math, when a voice breaks her through her thoughts.

"Olivia, right?"

Olivia turns to see Monique, the girl from last night approaching her. She's dressed in a red smock and carrying a price sticker. Her curly black hair bounces in place and her brown skin shines under the bright light.

"Yeah . . . Monique, right?" Olivia asks with an inviting smile. "El's friend."

"Yup, that's me. How're you doing?"

"I'm okay. Just looking for something that can rid everything from hangovers to cramps," she laughs uneasily, smiling wider in an attempt to hide the truth in her bad joke. For a small moment she wished that she were back in Manhattan, at the corner drug store where Louie knew her and knew her mother, where strangers didn't ask you simple enough questions that were always hard to answer.

"Oh, I'd go with the extra strength Tylenol capsules then. They help me a ton. Though I can't say I've ever been hung-over." Monique points to a red and white box on the shelf and smiles brightly. The girl rocks back on her heels once and brushes the curls out of her hair.

Olivia sets down the generic aspirin, and grabs the Tylenol bottle. "Hmm, thanks for the suggestion. So," Olivia starts, looking to make small talk, "you work two jobs?"

"Yeah, I'm going to Columbia in the fall, so I've gotta save up all the money I can now. My parents can't pay for all of my left over tuition and my scholarship is a partial, but I guess I'll know what a good work ethic is, huh?"

"Columbia? My mom's an English professor there!"

"Really? I knew you were a Manhattan girl. I asked El when he was in here this morning getting diapers for Mo, but he wouldn't say."

At the mention of Elliot, Olivia perks up; colour flushes her cheeks and her eyes dance. She's yet to see him today, but would like to before the days done.

"El was here?" Olivia asks, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Yeah, he's taking Mo back to Kath in the city, so he just stopped in to grab some last minute things. You know, he's pretty smitten with you . . ."

Monique's words cause Olivia to blush and she averts her gaze to the gray and white checker tiled floor. She remembers her conversation with Abbie only a half an hour ago and how Abbie had teased her.

"Really?" Olivia finds herself asking.

"Yeah, seriously. He had this dopey eye'd grin on his face when he was talking about you. I thought I was going to have to throw water on him or something. It was sick. He was all: What'd you think of Liv last night, Monique? She's cute, isn't she? I think I'm falling in love with her; blah, blah, blah . . ." Monique's voice is deep and gruff as she mocks Elliot and Olivia laughs, though she can feel her heart flutter in her chest. She doesn't know how much of what Monique's just said is true since Elliot plays his emotions close to the vest, but hopes most of it is.

"I didn't think that Elliot would find someone again, I mean when he and Kathy split it was kind of rough. They were together three out of our four years in high school, but they're better off apart than together. Plus, he likes you. He does."

"I really like him, too." Olivia admits candidly, pushing a peace of hair behind her ear. Once again, her earlier conversation with Abbie replays in her head.

_You sound like you're in love with him . . .go for it, Liv._

"Ew. You've got the same look on your face that he does – that glassy starry eye'd look. Yuck. I've gotta get back to work, Olivia, but I'll see you around." Monique says with a smile before turning to walk away.

She gets half way down the isle when a light bulb goes off in Olivia's head. "Monique!" Olivia shouts as she jogs the few steps the other girl has taken. Once she's completely caught up to Monique, Olivia lowers her voice, and all but whispers, "where can I find condoms?"

The other girl's eyes go wide and she wiggles her eyebrows approvingly. "Smart girl. Here, come with me. I'll ring you up so no one is in your business." She tells Olivia, grabbing Olivia's wrist. "Oh, and Olivia, I've known El for most of my life. You hurt him, and I'll hurt you. And if he ever gets out of hand with you, I'll kill him." She smiles wide and turns back on her heels, dragging Olivia with her.

Olivia doesn't know whether to smile or laugh, but follows Monique nonetheless.

/

The phone is ringing off the hook when Olivia gets back to the beach house. She throws her bag on the breakfast bar and picks up the receiver.

"Abbie, I'm not going to bang anything so don't even start," she growls into the receiver, expecting to hear a Texan accent, but is caught off guard when it's not.

"I'm looking for Serena Benson," the voice says, and Olivia grimaces in embarrassment, shaking her head as her cheeks flush red at her mistake.

"Oh, sorry, give me one second to get her. May I ask who is calling?"

"Professor Valencia. It's a bit of an emergency."

"Okay, I'll let her know."

"Mom!" Olivia shouts, hand over the mouthpiece. "It's a Professor Valencia, he says it's an emergency."

Olivia listens as the bathroom door opens and a red eye'd Serena shuffles out of the bathroom and into kitchen. She grabs the phone from Olivia, her best professional voice on, and says, "Good afternoon, Jorge, how can I help you?"

It's a work conversation, and Olivia sighs as she walks the few steps to the breakfast bar and grabs her bag. She reaches inside it, careful not to grab the five pack condom box, and sets the Tylenol bottle, her mother's wallet, and car keys down. Quickly she heads to her bedroom, and catches the tail end of Serena's conversation as she does so.

_Well my daughter and I are here until the beginning of August, so about two more weeks. What about a week from today? I can drive up then. _

Olivia raises a brow in confusion as she trudges into her room and shuts the door behind her. In a week from today, Serena was driving somewhere . . . a week from today Olivia was determined to have the beach house to herself. She reaches into her tote bag and grabs the condom box, and hurries over to the closet. She throws them on the top shelf and shuts the closet door just as her bedroom door flies open.

"We're staying another week, but next Monday I'm driving into Jersey to meet with a few other professors. Apparently Professor Smith has passed, and we need to elect his replacement as department chair."

"Okay."

/

Dressed in a pair of shorts and an oversized Columbia University t-shirt Olivia paddles about the living room, picking up discarded dishes and leafs of scribbled on paper. It's 11PM and she's exhausted. Between the conversation with Abbie and the daunting task of trying to navigate hurricane Serena, all she wants to do is fall into bed.

Her stomach is ripping itself to shreds, and she's hasn't talked to Elliot all day. She'd gone down the beach to see him only to have Bernie tell her that he'd taken Maureen in state to her maternal grandmother's. She'd already known that thanks to Monique, but hadn't wanted Bernie, even though she was a nice enough woman, to think that she was stalking Elliot or anything of that nature. And while all Olivia had wanted to see Elliot badly, being away from him was like being without a limb, she knew he was a father and his daughter came first. Plus, Serena was already on edge the entire day. Olivia didn't want to add fuel to the fire with mentions of Elliot.

Stacking the papers on the edge of the coffee table, she carries the dishes over to the sink with a yawn

She paddles back over to the opened front door and is in the process of checking the screen lock when the sounds of heavy footsteps break against the wood. Her eyes dart up and she shrieks when they come into contact with a tall, looming figure.

The shriek is immediately replaced with a wide smile, however, when she realizes that it's Elliot. She's so happy to see him.

"El," Olivia sighs in relief, a hand on her chest as her heartbeat slows to a normal rhythm, the smile stretching across her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I uh, I haven't seen my best girl all day, and I couldn't let that stand. Not after last night when you pulled that vanishing act on me." he smiles, but Olivia can sense something is wrong; his smile isn't genuine under the yellow light, and his posture is far too slumped forward. Something's wrong. She unlocks the screen door and turns on the porch light only to gasp at the sight in front of her.

Elliot's bottom lip is split open, and blood dribbles down his chin. Underneath his right eye sits a large red blotch that purples around the edge. His knuckles are bleeding and his chest is heaving as if he's out of breath.

"Oh my god, Elliot. What – what happened?" She questions as she steps out onto the porch, and carefully reaches out to grab his hand. Her fingertips gently dance along his bruised skin as her eyes rake up his looming frame to survey the damage on his face. His whole appearance reminds her of the ending scene from Rocky and she's truly terrified to imaging what the other guy looks like. True she'd never seen Elliot rage before, but she was certain that the bulk underneath his bloodied t-shirt wasn't all for show.

With a cavalier shrug and a half grin marred by a bloody lip, he responds, "Eh, couple fists to the face; it's nothing. But hey, you look cute in your pajamas."

Olivia rolls her eyes at his blatant deflection. "You got into a fight?"

"Yeah, you should see the other guy. Got any ice?"

A million questions hang on her tongue as she wonders why, just why her boyfriend decided he needed to make his face acquainted with someone's fist, but her thought are cut short as he asks for ice.

Worry spreads across her face as she turns to look over her shoulder and into the house. Serena fills her thoughts as her eyes fall onto mother's closed bedroom door and she weighs her options. It's only been about an hour since her mother retired to her bedroom to sleep, and surprisingly enough she hadn't black out. Actually, Olivia had only see her mom drink a glass of wine with dinner.

"Uhm, yeah. Come in, but you have to be quiet. Matter of fact, that door there," she points to the shut door she's inhabited the last two weeks, "is my room. Just go sit on my bed and shut the door. I'll grab the first aid kit and bring you some ice. But please, just please, be quiet."

/

If her mother catches her, she's dead; there is no ifs, ands or buts about it. Serena will kill her.

Olivia knows this as fact as she stands in between Elliot's legs, a hot wet wash rag in hand, and tending to the cut above his right eyebrow. He grimaces as she presses the rag down, rubbing as gently as possible. Once she's satisfied with the cleaned up wound, she reaches into the pile of various ointments, creams, and bandages she's piled on her bed and grabs a thin Band-Aid. She opens it and places it on the wound before stepping back ever so slightly to look at her handiwork. When she does, suddenly she becomes hyper aware of his body so close to hers. His breath is hot against her chest and his hands are resting on the tops his knees, which sit very close to her almost bare thighs; she's wearing shorts, but the fabric of the oversized t-shirt covers them.

Her mind begins to wonder about their current predicament, but she shoves those thoughts off, and takes a deep breath in. She has to know what happened to him. "So, you going to tell me why you look like you went three rounds with Sylvester Stallone?"

"I'm good, Liv. Don't need to worry about what happened. It's in the past." he deflects, flexing his muscles underneath his white t-shirt.

"Someone beat the crap out of you, El. Look at your hands." She reaches down to pick up his mitt like extremities.

"Look, Liv. I'm okay. Dad decided he needed a new punching bag; guess the one in the garage just wasn't cuttin' it. I'm fine though. I promise." And he smiles that marred grin and his lip is still cracked, his eye bruised.

"El, your dad – Joe - did this to you?"

"I hit em' too."

"Oh god, El," she cries out, dropping his hands and wrapping her own arms around his neck. The irony isn't lost on Olivia as she holds him close and can feel his hands slide up her back; she's standing here, imploring him to share thoughts about an abusive father when she can't find the words to say 'sometimes my mother hits me too.'

"It's okay, Liv. I swear I'm okay. I just couldn't stay in that house. I had to get out before I killed him."

Olivia squeezes him tighter at his confession, the realization dawning on her that she and Elliot are more alike than she'd originally thought. There'd been so many nights in between where she'd considered hitting Serena back, fighting her mother until the monster no longer raged.

"You're choking me here, Liv,"comes Elliot's voice and Olivia slackens her grip, until they're at least eight inches apart.

"Sorry. I just, you scared me."

"Well, I'm in one piece. A bit bruised and swollen, I'm in one piece nonetheless. I missed you today."

"I missed you too. Monique said you took Mo to see her grandma, so I figured that why I couldn't find you."

"Yeah, I dropped her off, and then got roped into doing some things off a honey-do list since Kath's dad's in the hospital. Did you get in trouble last night, for being late?"

At his words, the night's events replay in Olivia's psyche. She remembers the confusion she'd felt at Serena's reaction and subsequent behavior that day. "I don't think so," she tells Elliot with a shrugging. Her wrists rest on the tops of his shoulders and she mindlessly begins to scrap her nails against the back of his neck. "She yelled at me, but just left it alone. I dunno what's going on."

"But you're not in trouble, though?" he repeats, leaning his head back, his eyes fluttering close.

"I dunno." She repeats again, and her own eyes widen as an earthy moan dances from Elliot's lips. The sound immediately sends gooseflesh popping up across her skin.

"Fuck that feels good," Elliot grates and his own hands that rest on her lower back are pulling her closer as they travel underneath the hem of her t-shirt and come to rest on her bare sides, where her hips began to splay. "So you talked to Monique, when?"

"When I went to the drug store earlier for some Tylenol. She told me you were in earlier for diapers and that you talked about me to her . . ."

He opens his eyes now and looks straight up, his hands stilling against Olivia's flesh at her words. "Whatever she said, don't listen to her."

Olivia laughed then, shaking her head with a smirk and eye roll. "Everything she said was good; said you were smitten with me, couldn't get enough."

"Is that right?" Elliot asks, a smirk of his own playing on his features and his blue eyes dancing with light as Olivia stared at him.

"I told her that the feelings were mutual."

"I'm glad to know that."

And before Olivia can think about what they're doing, think about the fact that her mother is right next door and mother nature is currently visiting her, she's straddling him; knocking him back against the bed, her mouth hot against his lips, her hands trailing underneath his shirt.

His hands rest on the tops of her thighs and she slips her tongue against his, and presses her body down on top of him. The few supplies that she's piled on her bed slip to the floor, and just as quickly as she'd pounced on him, she's upright, with Elliot holding both her wrists and breathing heavy.

"Liv, I'd love to take this further, I would, but baby, not here, not now. Not like this. I think, I think I should go. I'll sleep in my car."

The red creeps into Olivia's cheeks then, and she finds her way out of his lap, breathing heavily as she collects the materials she'd been using to patch him up. "You can't sleep in your car, El. Just . . . just sleep here."

She can't believe her own words as she finishes speaking and all she can think of is Serena busting into her room to find Elliot sleeping.

"Sleep here? So you mother can kill me?"

"We can keep the door locked, and you'll just have to go out my window tomorrow morning. I promise, I won't try and jump your bones again. I'll be a good girl. Scout's honour." Olivia says jokingly though she means every word. She watches as the wheels turn in Elliot's head, as if he's actually considering staying.

"I'll stay," he finally agrees after more than one beat passes. "But set your alarm clock so I can be up before your mom decides to castrate me."

Olivia laughs then as she continues to collect the supplies. She walks over her dresser and sets it down, then reaches up to set her alarm clock for 6AM, hoping to beat Serena awake. When she turns back around she has to force her jaw to stay closed as she sees a pant-less Elliot, clad only in his boxers and tank top, laying in her bed, and patting the spot next to him.

Her nerves suddenly flare then, and the confidence she had moments prior where she was ready to jump him has deflated. She's once again the nervous inexperienced bright eye'd girl that wants to know what love is.

"I promise I'll be on my best behavior, too, Liv." Elliot whispers and Olivia nods, she bites on her bottom lip and then walks over to the light switch that sits on the wall opposite her bed. She flicks the switch then carefully paddles her way over to her bed and crawls right into Elliot's chaste, but strong embrace.

_I love him_, she thinks as one of his arms snakes over her side. _And I'm in love with him._

The world falls away as Olivia falls asleep and she hopes that this isn't just a dream.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Still got that late night/early morning knack for updating! I'm not happy with this chapter in the slightest, but after two rewrites, I guess I'll let it be. I hope you enjoy. Never fear dropping me a line so i know what you think! i thank all of you who take the time to favourite, review, etc. it means so much to me. also, please note the tiny time jump!

all mistakes are mine.

* * *

><p>Chapter 14: Like a prayer<p>

(A week later )

_His hands are everywhere and anywhere, dancing along her body in appreciative strokes as she twists and writhes beneath his lithe fingers. If his goal is to drive her mad, he's succeeding. She's putty beneath his hand, humming with anticipation as he trails wet kisses from her navel to her clavicle. Every inch of her being is on fire and coherent thoughts do not exist. The only thing that exists in that moment is the feel of his body as he hovers between her legs, playing her body like a finely tuned instrument. _

"_El, please." she whines in an unrecognizable voice that drips with lust. _

"_Shh, I've got you." he whispers, voice gruff with his own lust. His left hand trails up her side and her breathing is steep, hitching higher and higher with each movement. Her fingers twist in the twin bed sheets and she searches out his lips. _

_Their mouths meet in a slow kiss, the intensity and passion building. Both of his hands roam down her sides sending gooseflesh rising along her bare skin. The only thing garment that is preventing them from being one is her underwear and his boxer. _

"_Are you ready, Liv?" Elliot asks, his finger teasing along her longer stomach as they curl around the band of her panties. _

_All Olivia can do is nod, her heart beating so intensely and loud that she's afraid if she speaks it'll leap from her throat. _

_With one swoop he's pulling the thin lace material down her long legs and she whimpers, the anticipation almost unbearable. Elliot tosses the garment to the floor, his blue eyes locked on her brown, his ocean eyes searching out any and all hesitancy on her part. But there is none to find, Olivia's ready. _

_He reaches for his own shorts and tugs them off in one full swoop, and the fall unceremoniously to the floor. He grabs the condom from the spot on the bed they'd tossed it for what seemed like forever ago, and then positions himself in between her legs. _

_Olivia's breathing hitches and –_

The banging on her bedroom door jolts Olivia to, out of dreamland, her uneven breathes coming in spurts. Her mahogany locks are matted to her forehead and she's gripping the thin sheet that serves as her blanket as if it was a lifeline. Hot and bothered doesn't even begin to describe the way she feels at that moment.

"Olivia, are you up? We have to leave shortly!" Serena's voice carries through the wood and the older woman slams her palm against the door. "Olivia!"

"I'm up!" Olivia final responds, her voice wavering as her fingers slacken their grip on the sheet and sits up, slinging her feet over the side of her bed.

She's dizzy – so dizzy and the image of Elliot between her legs is vivid, fresh in her memory and making it increasingly hard to steady her heart rate.

It's been roughly a week since that fateful night he'd crawled into her bed and then out her bedroom window the following morning, and ever since her mind has indulged itself in fantasy. There was the dream from about two nights ago that ended with her moaning his name into her pillow that still faintly smelled of him; and then the daydream she'd had the previous day whilst she'd sat on the beach watching him chase around a giggling Liz. In the daydream he'd pinned her between his body and the sand while his hot mouth made it's mark on her neck.

And now.

"Then get dressed and get out here!" Serena shouts again, and Olivia rolls her eyes, knowing better than to press her luck just yet – not when she plans on worming her way out of the day trip to the city.

She shuffles to the bedroom door, dressed in a tank top and shorts, and pulls open the door and paddles into the kitchen.

Serena sits at the breakfast bar, cup of coffee in hand. She's all business as she sits; bifocals perched on her nose, graying dark hair pulled back into a tight low bun, black blouse, and dark jeans. She's in professor mode; ready to go.

"Why aren't you dressed?" Serena questions; her hands shake ever so slightly as she brings the coffee cup to her thin lips.

Olivia doesn't answer right away; instead she sifts through the refrigerator, bypassing the three-day-old tuna salad and opting for the carton of orange juice.

"I'm gonna stay home – well here." Olivia says as she pulls a glass from the cupboard above the sink and pours herself a glass of juice. She then returns the juice carton to its spot in the fridge and perches herself against the counter space next to the sink.

"I only wanted to go because I thought I'd get to see Abbie, but her mom's shipped her off to Texas to see her dad. My head also feels like it's going to split in half, and there's so much around here that needs to be done before we leave." she lies effortlessly knowing full well only one thing is on her mind, a full day _alone _with Elliot.

"I don't think so," is Serena's only retort as she brings the mug to her lips once more. "I'm not stupid, Olivia. I know that with me a state away, you'll want to play. Go get dressed."

Olivia's face falls then, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, quickly turning around so that her back faces her mother. She has to think quickly; she's not giving up on tonight.

"Mom," she starts, turning back around slowly. "I'm not – it's not like that. I'll probably just clean up around here, start packing and organizing, and watch a movie or two. After my headache disappears first, though. Besides, Bernie is just down the beach; it's just she and Liz today anyways. Please mom."

"Olivia."

"Elliot's not even home today, if that's what you're worrying about. He and his brother are in Jersey. He told me yesterday he'd be gone all day today." She lies. Ethan is going into to Jersey with some friends, but Elliot had no plan to meet them; Olivia had already made certain.

"Yesterday, huh? When you two were cuddling out there on the beach loungers or when you were trying to find each other's tonsils?"

A redness creeps up Olivia's neck and she averts her gaze down to the checkered tile of the floor. She hadn't been aware in the slightest that her mother had been watching her. When she was with Elliot, the world had the peculiar habit of reducing down to the size of whatever liminal space existed between them.

"Is he being too forward with you? Forcing you into anything – or out of anything?" Serena's slate eyes rove Olivia's body pointedly.

"God, mom, no." _It's the other way around_. "He's not – can we not have this conversation? My head may split open."

"You should do well to heed my words. He may seem interested in you right now but that's only because you're _here_. Close.

Accessible and too stupid to realize what's truly happening. You're just some lovesick girl he's waiting to get out of her slacks and into bed. Do you really think he'll continue to call you, hang around you when we get back to Manhattan?

He's an _adult,_ with a child. And you're still a child – _my_ child."

Her mother's words are like knives against Olivia's skin, slashing and slicing, causing the young girl to outwardly bristle; her stomach knotting.

Deep, in the pit of her stomach, buried underneath the fluttering butterflies that arise when Elliot's mentioned or when he's near her sits the fears Serena's so wistfully put into words.

She knows that Elliot's older, though only by roughly by three years, but there are years between them; he is a father; he does have responsibilities that are apart of her life she'll never understand –at least not yet.

Pivoting on her right heel, Olivia turns back around and picks up her glass, sipping from it slowly. Her mind runs a mile per minute and she chews on the inside of her cheek as the acidic liquid slips down her throat. She isn't going to let Serena or her stupid fears get to her.

"Well," Olivia says as she struggles to keep her voice level. "I guess when we get back home, it'll be over then." her voice is flat and she turns to look at her mother. "So may I stay here today - alone, then? Please."

A self-satisfying smirk lines Serena's thin lips and Olivia has to fight to stop herself from making a comment about Serena's abhorrent mothering skills.

"Please, mom."

"Fine. But I _won't_ be gone all day."

/

Immediately after her mother had backed out of the drive way and onto the road, Olivia found herself rushing about the house, preparing for the day. She completed what little laundry there was, washed the dishes, and even swept and mopped the floors.

Now here she is, running along the beach, squishy wet sand building between her toes and giggling like the lovesick schoolgirl her mother's relentlessly accused her of being. Elliot chases behind her, above them the sun is hot and the water inviting. Serena's venomous words have long been put to rest. Out of sight, out of mind.

The tide rushes to the sand, and Olivia squeals in delight as it hits the back of her legs, the cold sending much welcomed chills up her spine. While she missed the hustle and bustle of the city, the smog and the art she found in the graffiti, there was nowhere she'd rather be.

Elliot's arms encircle her waist, breaking her from her reverie and he lifts her up, her legs flailing in air as she holds onto the arms around her bare stomach.

Together they spin in circles until Olivia's screaming. "El, I'm dizzy!" And then her feet are planted in the melting sand; Elliot's chin nuzzles her neck from behind.

"Don't worry, Livia' you fall and I'll catch you," he whispers, his lips brushing against her ear, and his voice sends shivers up her spine.

It's the first time since she's been on LBI that she's gone – really gone – swimming. She's always been to the edge, wadded in the water, but today she'd dug into the recesses of her luggage tote, and pulled out her bathing suit, a red bikini that her mother detested, Olivia's ode to Phoebe Cates in _Fast Times At Ridgemont High_. And went for it.

They've been out in the ocean ever since. His fingers are pruning, wrinkly against and rough against her soft skin and she enjoys the feeling as his fingers dance along her bare stomach.

Salt water sticks to her pores and her heart beats wildly.

"I know," she tells him, wiggling out of his hold and turning into his embrace, arms around his neck and pulling him close. "I trust you." She wonders if he can hear her heart.

"Sure about that?" he teases, his hands falling to her waist and he leads her backwards towards the water.

Olivia squeals, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Elliot laughs, coming to a halt, just before the tide rushes in and covers them, his lips find hers, his rough fingers gently dance up her back and she giggles into his kiss.

Their skin slicks together from the salt water and Olivia pulls away, a gleam in her eyes and smile on her face. The taste of salt, sand, and peppermint lingers in her mouth and she bites her bottom lip.

"Ass," she hisses with an eye roll and he laughs a cocky laugh, his hold on her slackening. Wriggling free of his arms, she bends down to dig her hands in the wet sand, and picks up a clump, watching as some of it sifts through her fingers. A wicked grin lines her lips then, and she tosses it the few feet over to where Elliot stands and hits him in his chest.

Elliot quirks and eyebrow, his expression a mixture of 'oh really?' and 'now who's the ass?' and bends down to do the same, but Olivia's already running in the opposite direction.

She's so in love.

He chases after her, and Olivia's legs give out, sending her to the ground.

His large frame then comes to loom over her as he bends down, his broad torso and head blocking the sun from view as she turns over to smile at him. He's holding wet sand in hand and his blue eyes are glinting with mischief.

"Don't." she laughs, reaching up to still his wrist as he leans over her. Unceremoniously, the clump of wet sand falls to her stomach, then and he rubs it in, his fingers dancing along her skin and she has to physically stop herself from moaning at the feeling. She hopes that he'll account the red that rises in her cheeks as being sun made.

"Ass." she hisses again, unable to stop the grin and she's pleasantly surprised when his lips crash down on hers.

"Yeah, I am, but I'm your ass." He replies and their chests touch and Olivia wonders how ridiculous she must look to the other inhabitants of the beach, laying on her back, in the sand – covered in sand. But those thoughts are fleeting because Elliot's smiling at her again and his blue eyes are like oceans she's more than happy to drown in.

More than ever, she knows where and how she wants the day to end.

"Want to come up," she asks, nodding her head in the direction of her empty beach house.

"I don't know Liv, I think we've tried our luck enough with your mom." Elliot tells her, referring to the previous week when he'd forced his large frame out of her window not a moment to soon.

"My mom's driving into the city to meet with a few colleagues for some emergency work stuff– she's probably just left Jersey - it'll just be us. I can make us something to eat; grilled cheese and ice-tea?"

He doesn't respond right away, and his silence causes Olivia to bite down on her bottom lip, anxious. She stares at him intently, silently trying to communicate that she's more than okay with being alone with him and seeing where it'll go.

"Yeah, I think we can do that. Just let me shower and change real quick." He motions to his chest, and Olivia looks down at her own stomach that is covered in sand and sea.

"Yeah, I think I should, too."

/

They're sitting on the floor of the living room, between the couch and coffee table; their plates of food (grilled cheese as Olivia had promised) long forgotten as they idly chat about anything and everything. The radio is on low. They both showered and changed.

Elliot's dressed in a pair of blue jean shorts and a gray muscle tee that show's off the cross tattoo on his upper left bicep. Olivia wears a black a line skirt that rests mid thigh and a white halter top that ties around her neck. Her legs rest atop his and the couch serves as an elbow rest as she rests her head on her fist.

The latest topic of conversation is post high school life and higher education.

"I've been thinking," Elliot says as fingers idly drum along her thigh, "of going into the marines – reserves of course because I have Maureen."

"The marines, really?"

"What, I don't come off as a marine man?" he asks and his hand flattens against her thigh, and Suddenly Olivia's warm, a little too warm.

"No, it's not that. It's just, well aren't you afraid of having to go off to like war or something?"

He shrugs noncommittally. "I mean, not really – or not right now at least. I actually haven't thought of that."

"Then why do you want to be a marine?" Olivia questions, her brown eyes searching his blue and she watches as he chews on the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowing together. He's trying to find the right answer, she can tell because she can almost see the gears turning in his head.

"Well," he works his free hand along his jaw. "I just want to become someone Maureen can be proud of. I had her young, I know, and I just don't want her to think that I threw away my life. Y'know? "

She didn't know, not really, but the honesty in his answer still breaks her heart. His selflessness makes her want to cry.

"You're such a good dad, El. Really," are the only words her mouth can form.

"I wish. I'm trying my best here, but it doesn't really come with a manual, and I've had a pretty shit example."

The image of Elliot from the week prior, bruised and bloodied floats through her memory and she purses her lips, choosing not to comment. From her own experience with a less than conventional mother she knows it's better not to push.

"So what about you, huh? What do you want to do?" Elliot questions, tapping her thigh gently to gain her attention.

Olivia looks up, nose crinkled in thought. She's only sixteen, aside from what her mother does and her curiosity with crime fighting – police work, she hasn't really thought about it.

"Well, I'm not sure. I know I want to continue to study Spanish when I get to college, but as far as a career goes, I don't know. I want to do something useful. I want to change lives – help women." _Atone for my father's sins somehow._

"You have a direction, at least – unlike me. Maybe you'd be good as a teacher? A professor like your mother?"

Olivia shakes her head so fast she damn near gives herself whiplash. "Maybe a teacher – like grades k-12, but never a professor," conviction to her tone, "older kids are assholes."

They laugh together, then, Elliot nodding his head knowingly. "You are good with Maureen, I think you'd be a good elementary school teacher."

Her heart flutters and she smiles when her ears pick up on the sounds of Prince crooning from the long forgotten radio.

Giddiness shakes her and she rushes to her feet, Elliot's hand falling from her thigh, and hurries over to the stereo that sits in the corner of the room on the other side of the couch. Turning up the sound, she begins to sway in place, shaking her body and beckoning for Elliot to stand, to follow her lead.

"Should I be jealous of this guy?" Elliot jokes, shaking his head as she wags a finger in his direction. "I told you, I don't dance."

"Yes and please." She jokes back. "I'd marry Prince if he asked me."

With a roll of his ocean orbs, Elliot labors to his feet, crossing his arms and cocking a brow. "I don't get it. What's he even got?"

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it makes me want him. Maybe it's the music?"

"Maybe." Then he's got his hands on her waist, pulling him towards her. Her hips sway underneath his fingertips.

"Dance, Stabler." She commands playfully.

"I'm having much more fun watching you," he laughs, and his hands travel up her sides until he's cupping her cheeks. Slowly he guides their lips together in a soft, chaste kiss that leaves Olivia feeling dizzy. Her hands reach out to grasp the material of his muscle tee to steady her self.

"You're beautiful, Liv."

Butterflies flutter inside her chest and she feels like she's coming undone at the seams. A flash of her dream earlier that morning flashes through her thoughts and she wants him.

Clearing her thoughts, she pulls away, putting space between their bodies. Now more than ever she wants to make her imagined apex a reality. "Excuse me for a sec, please."

"Yeah, but – uh, you okay?"

"Never better. Never," Olivia assures him, pivoting away from him and disappearing towards her bedroom. "I'll be right back."

/

Her bedroom smells of lavender and sea salt as she stands in the middle of the room, condom box in hand. Small convulsions course through her slim form. She's nervous – partly scared. So many times sex had been disclosed to her as a power struggle, a shameful act, a weapon, or something people just did - that she'd been afraid for a while. Whilst everyone in her class was losing their virginities in the backseat of cars and underneath bleachers, Olivia couldn't. Sure she'd had her fair share of missteps in the romance arena – choosing to chase after mean she shouldn't have, but never had to wanted to open all of herself, including her body, to someone so wholly.

From the living room she hears the radio going; John Mellencamp softly crooning, and if she stretches her neck ever so slightly she swears she can hear Elliot singing along.

Briefly her mind wanders back to the night of the carnival and her ill-fated date with the middle Stabler who still refuses to talk to her and she thinks of what Ethan had said about she and Elliot having similar music tastes. His off-key harmonizing causes her to laugh and her nerves slowly dissipate. Opening the box, she pulls out a sealed condom and holds in tightly in her locked hand. She does a once over in the vanity mirror above her dresser and studies her reflection.

With her free hand she brushes back her fringe to see the scar above her right eye from falling face first into her grandmother's glass coffee table when she was seven. Her eyes then fall on her nose and she immediately scrunches it up, remembering the man in the mall who had stopped her a few months back, claiming to be a model scout who thought she almost had the perfect look; all she was missing was a nose job and blonde hair.

But all of that's null and void now, and she can't help but smile. So many times she's looked in the mirror to detest the reflection that stared back at her – her features belonging to someone else, but all she sees now is just a girl in love.

Despite the warnings her mother seemed help bent on beating into her head about men in general, there was just something about Elliot that made her feel safe – wanted, _loved_.

She wanted this. She wanted this. She was ready.

/

When she enters the living room she finds Elliot _dancing_. The laughter that leaves her lips is uninhibited – full and freeing, and it causes Elliot to turn. Redness creeps into his face at the sight of her and he rubs his neck in embarrassment.

"So uh, um . . . how much of that did ya see?" he asks, and Olivia shrugs nonchalantly.

"Enough to know that you _do_ dance, and maybe you shouldn't." she teases lightly, tilting her head to the side and smirking. In hand the foil of the condom rapper digs into her flesh and she's sweating.

"So who are you, flash dance then?"

Olivia raises her brow, and walks towards him. "Maybe I am . . .. Now shut up, close your eyes, and open your hand." she instructs, her own hands behind her back.

"I don't think I trust you. What are you up to?"

"Don't trust me? This coming from someone who tried to drown me earlier? Just do it, El."

He closes his eyes and holds out both his hands and Olivia takes a deep breath. Her hands are shaking as she slips the condom into his palm, and then closes his fingers around it.

"Now open." she commands softly as her arms drop to her sides, she gaze turns coquettish, and she bites her bottom lip, waiting anxiously for his response.

Realization dawns in Elliot's eyes as he opens his hand.

"Liv," he starts, "I thought . . . " but he doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence because Olivia's nimble fingers brush feather light against his wrist, and she's threading one of her hands with his free hand.

"El, I uh," nervous breathy laughter leaves her lips, "uhm, wow this is harder than I thought it'd be."

"Liv."

"I didn't expect any of this to happen these last three weeks. I thought I'd spend my summer sitting on the beach, reading and avoiding my mother. But then you just kind of showed up out of nowhere . . ."

A low chuckle leaves Elliot's lips at her words. "I can say the same about you."

Olivia's cheeks flash red and she glances down at the ground. "Can you say that you've fallen in love with me like I've fallen in love with you?" her voice wavers as her nerves seep through her question. Her heartbeat thumps wildly in her chest, and her eyes stay glued to the ground. She doesn't know what she'll do if he tells her no, she hasn't thought this far yet.

The floor creaks, the song on the radio changes, and Olivia can hear the low hum of Elliot's breathing, but he doesn't say anything.

His grip slackens slightly and Olivia can feel her heart start to sink.

He doesn't love her, she thinks, and suddenly she's hot, uncomfortable, and close to tears; Serena's words from earlier crawl into her consciousness.

She's the child of a rapist and a drunk, who could love something like that.

She gulps hard, her bottom lip quivering, and his silence suffices for an answer. "I guess – I should - uhm. Never mind. Just- I should go wash the dishes." she wiggles her fingers free from his and walks over to the coffee table, grabbing the discarded dishes. "Ignore what I just said," and she practically runs into the kitchen. The lump rises in her throat and she silently curses herself as she plunges the dishes and her hands into the lukewarm water.

"Liv," Elliot calls to her and her back is to him; she's shaking her head.

"No, it's okay, Elliot. I'm fine. I get it - too much, too soon. It's fine. Like I said, just ignore me." _Please._ "I didn't mean it."

But she did mean it, and she isn't fine. Tears slip down her cheeks, and she softly sobs into the dishwater. Her heart falls to pieces and she hopes that he'll have enough decency to disappear so that she can cry in peace.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** So this chapter is extremely long and I've tried to find a place to break it, but couldn't. I guess this can count as a pseudo apology then because I'm going to be on a bit of a hiatus the next few months. My LSAT is soon, and so it's time to buckle down.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, nonetheless. Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, favs, and follows etc, even if you don't leave a review. Ya'll are rockstars.

This chapter is rated M and picks up right where we left off. The lyrics are from Chaka Khan's 'Sweet Thing'.

* * *

><p>Chapter 15: Like a Virgin<p>

Soapsuds mingle with salty tears as Olivia's hands search out dirty utensils and water flies everywhere from her furious scrubbing. She's shaking slightly and inside her chest her heart constricts until it shatters. Sadness fills her to the brim and she even forgets about the sterling silver charm bracelet – her lucky bracelet that her grandmother Galina had bought her about a year ago – that hangs around her right wrist and her grandmother's warning not to get it wet.

The sadness is so consuming that she doesn't hear his soft footfalls as they approach, nor does she feel the sting of the knife as it slides across her finger. It's only when the soap water turns a murky red does she realize what's happened. By then, however, she's being spun around, and a set of strong hands are gripping the backs of her thighs and depositing her onto the sopping wet counter. A squeal of surprise falls from her lips and her chocolate eyes find his.

Elliot's made his way into the kitchen and he's standing in front of her, between her legs, his blue eyes soft as he moves to cradle her cheeks in both of his hands. He uses his thumb pads to wipe away the streaming tears and Olivia shakes her head, her fingers – blood and all – curling underneath the edge of the counter.

"Don't cry, 'Livia," his gruff bravado implores. "Don't cry over me one bit, 'Livia. I'm not worth it."

"I'm not, I'm fine. Please leave me alone." she hears a pleading to her tone that she doesn't like and it ties her stomach into knots and causes her to turn her head best she can, his hands partially obstructing her movement. Her eyes close and she just wants him to go away.

"I can't do that Liv, I can't. You have to look at me. Just open your eyes and look at me. Please."

"I can't." she's too embarrassed to, she thinks, chalking up her actions to throwing herself at something unattainable – again; it was becoming a pattern with her. Maybe she was a masochist; maybe she loved putting herself in this emotional pain.

"Liv."

"No," her voice small.

"Please, Liv."

He's begging now, and Olivia complies because the tone of his voice shatters her heart even more. Slowly each eyelid cracks open until her blurry brown and red orbs are gazing at him. Silent tears continue to roll down her cheeks and her voice cracks as she speaks.

"I said I was fine, Elliot. N – now what?"

"I love you, too."

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. She couldn't have possibly heard him right, she thinks. "What?"

And he smiles, leaning forward until their noses touch. His breath is warm and her skin is sticky, wet from crying. Chills roll through her as his hands drop from her face and skim down her sides, coming to a stop on the outside of her upper thighs, sitting atop the damp fabric.

"I'm. In. Love. With. You. Too."

Like a ton of bricks, his words rocket over Olivia, one by one knocking the air out of her. His words hit Olivia like a ton of bricks, one by one knocking the wind out of her, and dragging the shattered shards of her heart back into place.

She smiles through her tears, unable to mask the excitement in her voice. "Really?"

"Yeah. Really." He assures her, and his forehead presses against hers and she's smiling wide. "I just – you caught me off guard there, Liv. First we're sitting on the floor eating, then you're slipping condom wrappers in my hand and telling me you love me. I didn't pause back there because I don't love you. I paused because I can't – I'm not good with telling people my feelings."

The grip she has on the counter slackens and his words hit home; she understands all too well. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"No, don't apologize. I don't think I've ever felt this way about anyone before. Shit, Liv. It's like we don't even have to talk for me to know that you just understand; you understand me." He tells her, leaning back on his heels, his hands still sitting on her thighs.

His words mark her smile and she can feel the redness creeping up her neck; everything he's saying she's felt, too. "I get it, I feel like that, too. Like I can just . . . like we just exist together. God that sounds cheesy." The smile on her face spreads until she's grinning from ear to ear, her cheeks sticky from the dried tears.

She lets her grip fall from the lip of the counter and reaches down then, searching out his hands, and intertwining hers. His fingers grasp hers and they just stare at each other with matching grins before the stinging sensation barrels back in.

"Liv, you're bleeding."

Her brown eyes fall to the tip of her index finger on her right hand and he grasps her finger, holding pressure on the severed skin.

"I'm fine – I'm okay."

"You don't always have to be fine or okay, Liv." He tells her, tending to her injury with ease. He grabs the dry dishcloth off of the towel rack above the sink, and bunches it up, rolling her hand in it.

"I do, though. I always do." It's easier, she thinks, to pretend that she's okay. Then she can focus on other people and other things; save the world like she can't save herself.

"No, you don't. It's okay to need someone else."

What scares her most about his words isn't the intensity in his eyes, the blue bright as if an electric current was running through it, but their validity. She was starting to need him, and that scared her. At a loss for words, and too afraid to find any, Olivia nods knowingly.

"Where can I find a Band-Aid?" Elliot asks, and she's thankful that it's a question she can answer.

"Medicine cabinet, bathroom . . ." And he's gone, out the kitchen and disappearing down the hall.

Too afraid to move for fear that this might all be some ridiculous dream she's conjured up due to heat exhaustion, Olivia stays put, using her right elbow to reach over and turn the faucet off. Her brown eyes fall on the sudsy, murky dishwater, and then glance around the living room. Briefly she wonders what time it is, but refuses to let her mind even think of Serena. This was going to be a Serena free afternoon, come hell or high water.

The wood creaks, groaning under the weight as Elliot returns. He's carrying two bandaids and a tube of antibiotic ointment. It only takes him seconds to bandage her up and Olivia smile at how the table had turned from only the previous week, when she'd done the same for him.

"There, all better," he grins, admiring his handiwork as he holds up her bandaged finger for her to inspect. "I usually have to kiss Mo's finger after I'm done, to make her tears go away. You seem to be holding up pretty well."

"You can still kiss it if you'd like." She wiggles her fingers, and then reaches out for him, her fingers curling into the material of his shirt as she pulls him close, spreading her legs ever so slightly, and the wetness of the counter seeping through the material of her skirt. Once he's close enough, she drags her hands up his arms, a smile on her face as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down until his face is level with hers.

They sit for a few moments, staring at one another. Time slows almost to a halt. Idly Olivia lets her nails graze the base of Elliot's neck, running her finger back and forth over the stubble of shaved hair at the nape of his neck.

He groans at the contact and the sound alone causes a heat to implode within Olivia's lower belly. It's a feeling somewhere between butterflies and heat exhaustion. Timidly she leans forward, her heart thumping wildly, her breath heavy, and takes his bottom lip between her. Gently she tugs on it, encouraging his lips to part before slipping her tongue against his. Elliot's hands find their way to her knees and skim their way up, underneath her skirt, to rest on her thighs, his fingers finding a rhythm that cause her thighs to tense.

She'd had a plan for this evening, for this day, and it'd gotten slightly sidetracked. Now she was hell bent on putting it back in motion.

Her nimble fingers drop from around his neck and she reaches up to her own neck, quickly making work of the knot that partially holds her top up. The thick straps slip down her front, and hang low on her chest, her pearl silk bra still in place.

Their tongues still slide together, Elliot's hands still dance on her on her thighs, and she lets her fingers move of their own volition. They find their way to his belt buckle and are half way to unbuckling it when Elliot's mitten like digits cover hers, effectively halting her questing fingers.

His voice is thick, muffled as he tries to pull away from her hungry mouth. "What are you doing, Olivia?"

"Undressing us . . ." she tries to wiggle her hands free of his hold.

"Why?" his grip tightens.

"Because I want to bake a cake, why do you think?"

With an eye roll, Elliot laughs, stepping back, her hands still in a vice grip. His eyes drop down to her chest, and Olivia smirks, as it proves difficult for him to drag his eyes back up to her face.

Finally he looks up. "Liv, we don't – I didn't. We can't . . .You don't."

"I want to, El. I want to sleep with you. I want you to be my first."

"Olivia, that's a big step. I don't want you to think I only told you that I loved you because you were holding sex over my head. We don't have to do this. Not right now."

"_Elliot_, I've thought this through. I've been thinking about it for a lot longer than two minutes. I'm ready." She frees her hands from his hold and tilts her head; with a pointed stare her dark eyes meet his blue ones.

"Are you sure?" he asks, rubbing his neck, and shifting slightly in space.

Swinging her legs, Olivia hops down off of the counter. The floor is damp, wet from the few dishes she'd done mid breakdown, as her feet slide across it. Boldly she invades his space, closing the space between their bodies until his chest is flush against hers.

Elliot's attention is drawn down to the thin white – almost see-through – satin of her bra does and her bunched up top that sits below her breasts.

With his attention captured, Olivia's nimble fingers dance up his left side and come to a rest on the outside of his bicep. She traces the image with the tips of her fingers, her eyes locked on his face; his mouth is half open, his brows knitted together. She tangles her free hand wit his, then grips his left shoulder, right above the tattoo. Elliot's left hand reaches out and grasps her waist, and Olivia guides her mouth to his throat, sucking on his pulse point.

If this doesn't suffice as an answer, then she doesn't know what will. Want doesn't even begin to describe the feeling sitting in the pit of her stomach. She's in lust – in love - and ignoring everything around them, but them.

"Liv…" Elliot hisses, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Touch. Me. El. Please." She whispers in between kisses, her lips trailing from his neck to his lips. "Touch me." Olivia implores once more, taking the hand intertwined with his, untangling their fingers, and guiding the oversized mitten like hand to her chest.

Elliot's hand immediately closes on her breast, the contact sends shivers down Olivia's spine and he's timid at first, much to her dismay. His fingers softly dance along the satin, and Olivia has to fight to suppress an eye roll. For some reason she'd seen this going a whole lot differently.

His modest touches with meek force are starting to drive her mad. Annoyance wins out as she speaks, "Will you just grab me? Geez. I'm not going to break. I'm giving you permission to fondle me and you're just standing there. Fondle me damn it. Elliot Stabler, if you don't –"

It's like a spark wakens in him then; electricity flows through his bright blues and they go from 0 to 100 in seconds. Elliot's hands are suddenly everywhere on her body, and Olivia is so dizzy she can't see straight.

Her skin is hot, her skirt soaking wet, sudsy, and sticking to her thighs as they stumble down the hall to her bedroom.

He's backing her up and she's caught up, in him, in the heat of the moment, and in his pants -literally. One of the charms (an Eiffel tower) from her charm bracelet is caught in his belt loop. She yanks her wrist ever so slightly, trying to free the object without catching his attention because oh god his lips feel good as they dance along the pulse point of her neck. It'd taken forever to convince him that she was more than ready for this, and she didn't want any distractions.

"Oh god, right there." she hisses at the feel of his teeth when they graze against her neck and a warmth like no other fills her. His hands bunch up the material at her sides and they're almost to her room when two things happen simultaneously; her legs forget to work and her caught hand glides across his jean-covered erection. Elliot's hips roll forward at her touch and her knees give out, sending them both sailing to the floor.

Somehow Elliot manages to maneuver them mid-air so that when they hit the ground his frame takes most of the impact. She lands partly on his chest, and partly against the wall. Her charm finally comes undone and she stares up at the ceiling for a moment.

"Fuck." Elliot mumbles, groaning.

"I'm trying to." Olivia quips, unable to pass up the opportunity to break the ice, the tension that lingers in air. Somewhere in the background a song Olivia isn't too familiar with plays.

A wicked grin on her face as a fit of giggles shakes her frame as she cradles into Elliot's frame. He strokes her hair lazily and his gooseflesh dances along Olivia's skin; she's shivering, but she's not cold.

"You okay?" Elliot asks, laughing; his laughter like music to Olivia's ears and she takes the opportunity to study him from beneath her lashes. She notices a faint scar that rests on his left cheekbone and she wonders if that's from Joe. From his cheekbone her eyes fall on to his lashes, they're long and dark – the opposite of his eyes.

"I'm good if you are."

"I'm good."

In one movement he whisks them both to their feet, and tangles their hands together, pulling her close. Instinctively she folds into his embrace, her chin resting on his shoulder. Surprisingly enough he starts to sway, his body coaxing her, one of his hands now resting on her lower back, the other still tightly tucked in hers.

"_I will love you anyway, even if you cannot stay, I think you are the one for me. Here is where you want to be. I just want to satisfy you, you're not mine and I can't deny it._" Elliot sings – off key and in a masculine voice that contrasts with the light feminine tone of the singer – but he sings nonetheless.

Eyes widening, Olivia's brows knit together as she pulls back to look at him. She's heard the song, maybe once or twice coming from a neighbor's apartment, but whatever the song may be, she suddenly loves it.

"You're surprisingly light on your feet . . ." she compliments and Elliot holds up their intertwined fingers, shushing her.

He hums along with the song, adding and dropping words and it's clear that he doesn't know or he's forgotten. Whatever it is, the sly smile that rests on his lips as he softly croons the words (clearly tone deaf) causes Olivia to melt. He's singing to her. The boy who didn't dance was singing – to her.

"_You are my heat__**, **__you are my fire; __y__ou make me weak with strong desire.__**  
><strong>__To love you my whole life long__**, **__be it right, or be it wrong . . .__Love me now or I'll go crazy_."

The song winds down and Olivia laughs, not at Elliot, or the song, but at the situation. She's feet from her bedroom, dancing with her boyfriend who seems very content to caress her all afternoon long when all she wanted was to jump his bones.

"That's one of my mom's favourite songs. She used to sing it to me all the time. Never understood the words until a few minutes ago." he candidly tells her and Olivia smiles, any nerves she had, gone. The hand on her back sinks lower until he's skimming the top of her ass.

"I love that you're being all cutesy and sweet, El. I really do. But I just want you to - "

Olivia doesn't get the opportunity to finish her sentence, to tell him that she's just about two seconds away from ripping his shirt open because damn it she wants to know what his body feels like on hers – in her. He's lifting her off of the ground, wrapping her legs around his waist, and carrying her into her bedroom. He kicks the door closed behind them and gently deposits her on the bed.

The bed creaks beneath her weight and she hurries to her knees, balancing rather precariously as she grabs the bottom of her falling down top and yanks it over her head, tossing it to the floor unceremoniously. Her fingers are grasping the zip of her skirt when Elliot's hands cover hers. He's leaning on the bed, his breath hot on her cheek as he tugs on the zipper, and Olivia swears to the high heavens that she can hear his heart beating as he does so.

His fingers curl around band of the skirt and he's dragging it down her hips until she has to grip his shoulders to keep her balance.

She's so close to getting what she wants. So close.

And then he stops.

"Liv, are you _sure_ about this?" Elliot questions, the concern in his voice evident and it causes Olivia to roll her eyes. While she's grateful to have found someone so concerned with her well being, he's really starting to grate her nerves by stopping every two seconds. Anxiousness is seeping into her frame, and quite frankly, she's rather turned on.

"El." She laughs, rolling her eyes at his concern and she falls to her bum, her skirt still half off her hips, half on, but her long legs dangle off the bed now. " I _trust_ you; with my heart_ and_ my body."

To prove her point, she rises to her feet, and gravity makes quick work of her already unzipped skirt. It falls to the floor and she steps out of it, and the crawls onto the bed. While she'd been dressed in almost the same exact thing roughly and hour or two ago and had called it swim wear, being clad only in her satin white undergarments causes the realization of what she's getting ready to do – or at least trying to do – sink in. She's going to make love. Well, if she can get Elliot's head in the game.

"Okay, El?"

She extends her long legs in his direction, pointing her toes and nibbling on her bottom lip, attempting her hand at seduction. It doesn't take long before Elliot's weight is coming down onto the bed. His rough palms trace the skin from her ankle to her thigh and Olivia leans forward, her fingers seeking out his belt buckle. She manages to get it undone complete with no hesitation and then she un-tucks his shirt, and pushes it up his sides, and off of him. It's a small, short lived victory for Olivia who is only allotted a few seconds to search out his newly exposed skin because Elliot's seizing her by her waist and settling between her legs.

Instinctively her legs open and for him and she can feel him, all of him through his jeans; he's hard – rock hard. Her nerves flare ever so slightly.

She's going to have sex - no she's going to make love, to the man she loves.

"We're going to take things slow then," he whispers into the crook of her neck, his breath hot as he balances on his forearms that rest above her head in an attempt not to crush her. "I don't want to hurt you, and the only way that will happen is if you're completely open and ready."

Olivia nods, eyes glassy as he accidentally rubs against her, through her underwear and his jeans. She doesn't think being completely open and ready for him is going to be an issue; the wetness between her legs is testament to that.

"I'm okay with taking things slow," she responds softly turning her head to capture his lips. She doesn't know how else to take things.

The kiss is soft at first, innocent as their lips mesh together in synchronicity. But then Elliot's hand, the one that rests above her head, slowly makes its way to her shoulder, his callused fingers make quick work of the strap that hangs around her neck and he's pulling her bra down, and kneading the soft flesh of each breast as it's freed from it's hold.

She's never felt these sensations that his ministrations are giving her before and the feeling is only intensified when he pulls his mouth away from her hungry lips and trails it down her neck, to the base of her throat, and finally to her right breast. He takes it into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth, and Olivia moans – her nails seek out his shoulders and she's digging into his flesh.

The world is spinning above her, and there's a flood of moisture making its way down her legs.

His mouth is on the move again, then. And he's dragging his lips even lower. Soft kisses are peppered along her belly, and then back up, coming to rest against her mouth. The trail of wet kisses causes her to shiver against the warm, stagnate air of the room, and his pelvis pushes into hers.

He's driving her crazy – making her head spin with each touch, caress, new sensation.

Then he's gone - his weight, his warmth, and his body. He's standing, his large chest rising and falling heavily as he runs a hand down his face. Olivia thinks she sees a drop of blood rolling down his shoulders, but can't be sure. Her vision is so damn foggy and she's a step away from being intoxicated. Drunk in love.

She's drowning in a haze of lust, a sea of _him_ – he's all over her, on every inch of exposed skin, and on the tip of her tongue; she can taste him. Briefly she wonders if this is what if feels like for every one their first time – if everyone feels as all consumed and complete even when they're bodies have yet to connect. She distinctly remembers the horror story Abbie had spun of her first time in the backseat of a jocks car post football game, though, and knows that this – this thing between she and Elliot is completely different. He's movements aren't hurried, their slow and sensuous, almost painfully so. He's not grunting over her or fumbling for her body in a cramped car between the seats.

Olivia sits up then, best she can and finishes yanking her bra off, tossing it to the ground in a huff. Her fingers are curling around the band of her underwear when speaks.

"Don't, I'll do it. Just lay back and relax…" he softly orders, his gaze intense and Olivia complies.

Their mouths meet in a searing kiss then, catching her off guard and then Elliot's fingers are curling over the band of her underwear. Her eyes open and her heart thumps up her throat and Elliot pulls back, lips swollen. His eyes flit over her bare chest and he's leaning on his knees, either of her thighs on each side of him.

She's breathing heavy, and all she can do is nod as the lines between conscious and unconscious blurs because she remembers having this dream early that day.

The rough tips of his calloused fingers skim her soft skin as he slowly pulls the fabric down her long legs and tosses it to the ground.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Elliot whispers and Olivia bites her bottom lip, certain her heart is about to jump ship. She's never been topless in front of another person, let alone completely naked, and here she is.

He stares at her with hungry eyes and reaches for his own buckle, it jingles as he undoes it. He gets to his feet then, and lets his jeans, along with his boxers drop to the floor and Olivia's eyes widen at the sight of him. She can count on one hand how many times she's seen the full male anatomy and two of those times had been an accident.

"Wow." she whispers – more so to herself than to Elliot, but clearly he's heard her still because he laughs as he crawls back onto the bed. Her body shifts as the bed protests under their combine weight and she can't help but tremble, no matter how many times she's basically demanded and cajoled him into taking her, as he lowers himself down on her, though not in her yet. Instead he kisses her slowly and wholly, his dick rubbing against her.

She hisses at the feeling, more moisture flooding from between her legs and then he pulls away, balancing his weight precariously on his elbows as he reaches down onto the floor and into his jean's pocket, pulling out the foil package she'd handed him for what felt like eternity ago.

"If you're uncomfortable at all, Liv, you tell me. You tell me to stop because I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you at all. Okay?"

"Okay, El . . ." she repeats. "I – I love you."

There is no hesitation on Elliot's end this time. The words, "I love you too," fall from his lips plain as day and he kisses her forehead softly.

And the world slows down, space and time disappearing as Elliot rips the condom wrapper open and then guides himself inside her. They both moan simultaneously – Olivia more so out of pain - as he starts to fill her. He's slow - gentle - allowing her time to adjust, and she's grips his upper arms for support. She's never felt so full in her entire life. She lets out a breath that she didn't know she was holding at the thought that Elliot was finally inside of her. Her eyes are closed, eyebrows knitted together in concentration and her mouth slightly ajar.

"You okay?" she hears his voice above her and her eyes flutter open, capturing him gazing down at her in those pools of blue she constantly finds herself drowning in.

Her hearts racing fueled by the thought that they're actually doing this. He leans down slowly, seizing her lips and kissing her gently. His lips tug on her lower lip and her eyes drift back close. She can feel him shift slightly; his hips begin to rock against hers. His movements are slow, steady, gentle, and soon the initial discomfort is fading beneath an indescribable pleasure.

Though her movements are still tentative at best, her body begins to work on intuition and she's angling her hips against his, causing just enough friction that she moans when Elliot's hips collide against hers once more.

His weight falls onto her as his rhythm changes with her new position, and his speed increases. His right hand reaches out seizing one of her arms that's snaked itself around her neck, and he's tangling their fingers together, kissing them as Olivia moans.

"You're so perfect, Liv. So perfect." he whispers, his warm breath hitting her neck, sending spasms to the juncture between her legs and her back arches off the bed as he gently fucks into her.

The bed beneath them creaks and the fitted sheet pulls from its tucked in position in the corner.

Olivia's other hand, her free hand digs into the skin of his neck, and she's caught somewhere in the liminal space between pleasure and pain as his large body stretches her wholly and without regret until she's panting, her lips seeking his.

"El . . . El. . ." and she's twisting, turning her head until their lips meet.

"You, you okay?" he asks, breaking free from her lips, sinking his chin into the crook of her neck, his warm breath hits her ears.

"Fuck . . . yes." The words in-eloquently stumble from her lips and she can feel her body begin to shake, chasms of pleasure opening inside her and flooding her senses.

"Liv . . . I've gotta. . ." Elliot groans, the grip he's got on her fingers becoming vice like as their rhythm speeds up and Olivia's certain that she's going to have a hard time walking later on.

She can't speak, but she knows what he's going to say because she has to let go too before she implodes from the sensations building in her lower half.

They come together. Elliot's lips finding Olivia's as he keeps one hand locked in hers, the other curling underneath her right shoulder, pulling her close until her bare breasts are pressing against the sweaty, slick skin of his chest.

Olivia's head is rolling around in circles, her nails biting into any of his skin she can get a hold of as she rides out her orgasm, and the world shifts beneath their bodies. Every nerve ending in her body is on fire and she's tingling with a sensation she's never felt before. Her eyes are so tightly closed that when she manages to finally reopen them, she sees Elliot above her, doing the best he can to not crush her as he comes down off of his own high.

Somehow he manages to pull out of her and collapses lazily on her right side. His right hand still locked in her left. They're both breathing heavy, and he pulls Olivia into his chest, pushing the matted hair resting on her forehead away from her eyes.

Olivia burrows into his side, ducking her head into his chest as he look at her; her eyelids are heavy, her body is lead.

"Was I okay?" her voice is small, sheepish and muffled.

"You were perfect."

Elliot does his best to yank the flat sheet out from beneath their heavy forms and wraps it around them.

Together they drift in and out of consciousness.

/

He's drawing lazy circles on the skin of her bare back, the rough pads of his finger tips sending chills up spine.

She's lying on her chest, head resting on her arms. The thin sheet she knows she's going to have to change along with the rest of her bedding is draped along her lower back. There's a subtle haze hanging over her, and her entire body feels pleasantly heavy. Even the slight stinging sensation between her legs is a welcomed feeling, a reminder of what had transpired between them moments ago.

"You're beautiful," he whispers into her mahogany locks, and Olivia turns her head to look at him, eyelids heavy. A beam of light sneaks its way in between where the window shade doesn't quite reach the window seal, and basks Elliot's figure in a yellow light, highlighting his taut chest that Olivia can't help but to gaze at appreciatively.

Soon, she knows, their fairy tale will have to come to an end, but for now she's promised to make the most of this moment.

"You are, too." she responds, her cheeks aching from the grin that is stretched across her countenance as she stares at him. "I never knew that it'd be like this. That sex would feel like this – be like this. Not after . . .." _What he did to my mother_. She finishes, and her voice cracks. Darkness is finding its way into the light of the moment and suddenly she can't look at him, at Elliot because he's pure, good. She doesn't want him to know the monsters she's made of, the ones that sit beneath her skin.

Adverting her gaze, Olivia turns so that she's lying on her side, staring at the blank walls and solid oak door of her bedroom.

"Liv, is there something you want to tell me?" Elliot asks, and then he's snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her so that her back is against his chest and his chin is resting in crook of her neck.

Olivia can feel all of him; his hard body molded against hers and she reaches up to intertwine her fingers with his that are splayed against her flat stomach.

For some reason she wants to tell him; feels as if she has to tell him the truth about her.

"If I tell you something, you won't think of me any different, will you?" Olivia asks, her voice soft, small, and almost child-like.

"Unless you tell me that you're the one who killed Kennedy, there's nothing you can say to me that will make me think any differently of you, Liv. I didn't tell you that I loved you so that you'd sleep with me and I'd immediately run away. If I remember correctly, _you_ jumped my bones." He laughs jovially, and his laughter is like a gruff melody. Olivia nudges him with her elbow, trying not to smile.

"Love me, then beat me." Elliot teases and Olivia rolls her eyes. If only this didn't have to be apart of the conversation.

"I'm being serious, El. I don't want you to look at me like some monster..."

"Hey, now come on, turn around." He instructs, trailing his hand that's flat against her stomach up to where her waist dips, and nudging her until she's flat on her back, her brown eyes level with his blue.

The new positions leaves Olivia feeling vulnerable, open and possessing far less confidence than she had, had while their bodies had been pressed together. A visible shudder shakes her, and Elliot pulls the thin flat sheet that is haphazardly strewn across their bodies up to cover her chest. Olivia smiles at the gesture, and takes a deep breathe in, slow and steady.

If she could live her life without telling anyone her salacious origins, she would, but she thinks that she owes it to him – to explain what she can't and how she feels.

Elliot reaches up, his fingers pushing the sweat matted tendrils of curling locks from her face.

"Tell me whatever you need to, Liv - it won't change how I feel about you."

"It's..." She starts, the waver in her voice prominent as she reaches up to still the hand that's working against her forehead. "My father was a very bad man." She mimics the words Serena had shouted at her consistently throughout her years. "And well, he uhm...he." The words are too heavy on her tongue, too jagged in her throat. "I'm not supposed to exist. I shouldn't exist. Someone - some_thing_ like me shouldn't exist. I'm only here because my father raped my mom."

The words fall from her lips in haste, leaving a bitter taste to linger in her mouth. Counting her grandparents, her mother's best friend, and herself, very few people knew of Olivia's origins. It wasn't exactly a topic for fodder. My dad is slash was a rapist followed by nervous laughter was certainly no way to break the ice or to instigate polite conversation.

She lets go of his hand and closes her eyes, clutching the thin sheet to her slick skin as she sits up. Her body groans in slight protest, not yet used to being stretched so wholly by another. Years of conversations with her mother followed by late nights crying and cursing the mirror, rubbing her skin raw and wishing to see only Serena's features stare back at her flit through her memory. This isn't exactly how she'd pictured her first conversation post virginity lost going, but she wants him to know her, all of her; even the parts she wished she could change.

"He raped her." She struggles to repeat, the words forever surreal. "And she had me." She doesn't realize she's crying until the taste of salt seeps into her lips. Deep breathes, she reminds herself, unable to open her eyes to gauge his reaction.

"I've never really felt loves before, never really thought that I could be loved - not really. I mean, who could love a parasite? That's what I was, is – am, to my mother at least. The parasite forced to grow inside of her since grandma Galina doesn't believe in abortion and it was illegal then anyways."

"Olivia, you are not - look at me." Elliot softly demands, his hand trailing underneath her chin and lifting it up so that she'll look at him, but she can't. Not yet at least.

"Wait, El, listen," she pleads, trying to get this off her chest now, before she loses her nerve; she has to make him understand why his touches mean so much; why his words are slowly becoming her lifeline. She reaches out to grab his wrist with her free hand.

"Because of my fath -the man who fathered me, and my mother's paranoia, I thought that sex was just something someone took or something you did. I never really thought that it could be an expression of love." Her eyes open and a tight smile lingers on her lips.

"But what we just did, the way you caressed me, and touched me. The care, the concern...I felt, well annoyed at first." Soft laughter dances from her lips. "I just –"

"Wanted me to fondle you?" he finishes for her and breathy laughter leaves her lips once more as she brings her knees to her chest.

"Yeah, that. But I also felt ... loved. And for a small moment that I'm made of monsters, the things that go bump in the night."

"Fuck, Liv." He grits, shaking his wrist free of her hold, and puts an arm around her. He pulls her close until she's pressed against his bare side, and his lips are against her temple.

"_I love you. All of you."_ he declares, defiance in his tone. "You're not him and what happened to your mom, it's not your fault."

Softly, she sobs into his chest, and the tiny lead elephant that's been dancing on her own chest for sixteen years is gone, at least for now.

/

The sky is half pink, half purple as night chases day. The air smells of sea salt and sand. Olivia stands bare foot, at the top of the steps of the beach house; water droplets from her freshly washed hair roll down her legs. Elliot stands a step below her, with his arms are wrapped around her waist.

It's time for the day to end because if her calculations serve her correct, Serena will be home at any moment.

They've put the house back together and Olivia's shoved her sheets into the small washer, forgoing her pillow cases because she wants the scent of Elliot to linger as she falls asleep tonight.

Never in her life did she think she'd feel this happy. This content.

"My mom's going to be home soon…" and she hates that she has to break the moment but it's true.

"I know, I should go." but he makes no move to actually extricate his arms from around her.

"You should." Olivia agrees, her mouth falling on his and he smells like musk, sweat (having forgone the shower to clean the house while Olivia showered) and a smell that is distinctly his – a smell Olivia can't get enough of.

"I'm going…" and he pulls away, his fingers finding hers and lingering there as he walks down the steps. "Night, Liv. I love you."

"Night, El. I love you, too…"

Then he's shuffling down the beach and she's watching as his figure grows smaller until he's home. She heads inside herself, a noticeable change to her walk as she throws herself down on the couch, and Elliot consumes her thoughts as she picks up her copy of _The Bell Jar_ from the coffee table and leafs through it. Reading and rereading the same sentence at least ten times, each time it makes less sense than the last time.

Roughly a half hour later, the screen door bangs open. Serena walks in with her purse and a bag of Chinese takeout in hand. Her graying hair is frizzled and there's a bit of a stumble to her step. She's been drinking wine, Olivia can tell. With a clatter she drops the food onto the breakfast bar and kicks off her shoes.

The smell of Wong's chicken and broccoli causes Olivia's stomach to growl; she's starving. She labors to her feet, and Serena's slate eyes drag from Olivia's feet to the top of her head.

"I'm department chair." Serena announces, voice neutral, as she peels her blazer off her shoulders and throws it down next to the bag, still scrutinizing Olivia with her eyes. "How was your day, how are you feeling? You're walking funny."

_Like I'm flying._ "Okay. It was boring. Liz was sick and Bernie just talked about Georgia O'Keeffe non-stop. I should have went with you." she lies effortless, surprised at her own words. She and Bernie had discussed Georgia O'Keeffe, briefly as she walked out the door of the Stabler beach house, hand and hand with Elliot. "And I'm fine, my ankle's just kind of sore, I tripped coming up the stairs earlier. Congratulations, too, mom. You deserve it."

"Thanks. I'm going to eat and head to bed. It's been a long day. Find me a glass and get me some wine, too."

And Olivia does, without protest, without malice, and without concern for a drunken mother because right now she's on top of the world, and nothing can pull her back to earth.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: So I survived the LSAT. Barely, but I survived it nonetheless. Haha. Anyways, I'm back! Sorry for such a long wait. Promise the next chapter will be faster because it's almost done.

Now, for this chapter, it's dark and I'm only partly sorry. Actually the whole trajectory of this story will start to get pretty bleak, if I'm being honest. No frets, though, there will be a bit of EO young love fluff where I can get it in.

Beware of bad words, flying objects, and a scene that may break your heart.

Hope you enjoy.

PS: Don't fav w/o reviewing. Even if it's just one word because that drives me bananas.

* * *

><p>Chapter Sixteen: Heritage<p>

"How can you be so useless," Serena slurs, her words falling from her mouth in chunks, punctuated by the sound of a book tearing from its spine as it hits the floor. Pages flutter everywhere and Olivia throws her head back in frustration, sighing heavily, elbow deep in dish water. Trivial chores can't even keep hurricane Serena offshore.

For three days, Serena's been all but unbearable - a raging wind of verbal abuse, drunk taunts, and flying objects. Belligerent and needy one moment, demanding silence and solitude the next. Her moods were vodka fueled and bordering on manic, much to Olivia's consternation. And there is no escape. Back home she'd lock herself in her bedroom, sit out on the firescape and listen to the heartbeat of the city. Here, on LBI, she's cornered by the unknown. Aside from Elliot and the Stablers, she knows no one or thing. And running to the Stablers is out of the question. Not only has she seen so little of Elliot the last few days thanks to Serena, but regardless; she didn't like to share her drama. It was better, in Olivia's eyes, to keep everything tucked inside - hidden. Plus, if she tried to make it through the front door, she chanced a drunken Serena stumbling out behind her and down the stairs, or even to the beach.

"I said I wanted the Penguin umbridged - un - a-briged! I need the of Sound Fury - The Fury of the Sound. Sounds and Fury. Just get the damn book, Olivia!"

"Kay, mom. I just need a minute. I'm almost done." Olivia says as she pulls the plug from the sink, watching as the water disappears down the drain and her thoughts stray. She remembers the feel of Elliot's hands on her waist, his lips on her neck, his -

"Now!"

The memories fade and Olivia's left staring at the greyish dishwater, bits of food swirl to a halt and rock at the surface. Patience, she reminds herself; she has to keep her patience.

Conceding, Olivia grabs the dish towel from the hook that rests above the sink and sets about drying her hands. Again, a glimmer of her night with Elliot slips into memory as her eyes glance at the sopping wet counter. A warmness creeps up her body and she smiles to herself.

Her happiness is short lived.

"I'll getit myself." Serena chides from across the room. "I do it all anyways. Jus stay there, be a useless little slut - continue to be useless." Haphazardly she clamors to her feet. She only manages two steps before she falls back down on the floral patterned sofa.

_Useless slut_ - the word rips at Olivia's heart, tearing invisible slashes along her chest and she breathes in, and then out, shaking her head in her mother's direction. _They're just words, you're used to this_, she reminds herself.

Venom fueled words and harsh slaps were always a given during Serena's benders, though little useless slut was new. Usually she was just a brat, cry baby, little bitch or know-it-all.

With her hands dried, Olivia heads into her mother's room and rifles through the oversized suitcase jam-packed solely with novels, dictionaries, and criticisms. She sorts through the books, both paperback and hardcover, splitting them into significant piles, but doesn't find what Serena wants. She's actually not quite sure what Serena wants, in all honesty either. Scrutinizing each pile Olivia sighs, and stands, heading back into the living room and coming to a halt in front of the couch.

"I didn't find a Penguin unannotated, unedited, or unabridged The Sound of the Fury. Are sure you grabbed it from home?" She asks, brushing back a piece of hanging hair from her eyeline, rocking back on her heels, and chewing on her bottom lip.

"Did I bring it? Are you stupid? Yes. You are. You daft brat. I bought - brought it. Don't try to make me - look. Just find the damn book!"

A puff of hot breath expels from Olivia's lips as she turns back around and heads for her mother's bedroom. The smell of vodka and vomit tints the air and she sighs, plopping down on her backside as she searches through endless books once again in search of the book. Once again she fingers through book upon book, but doesn't find her sought after treasure. As she labors to her feet, she feels a tug, a dull ache against her inner thighs and she stretches. Fond memories float through her thoughts and she knows exactly why the aches there, and she thinks of Elliot's hands against her skin; his hips rocking into hers.

"Olivia!"

"It's not here!" Olivia shouts, walking out of the bedroom and returning to her position in front of the coffee table.

"Did you check all the books?"

The question causes Olivia to huff, and then roll her eyes, "of course."

"Don't be - get smart with me! Useless, Olivia. I bet your mind's too focused on that boy. Isn't it? Can't even find a book. Why am i'm surprised - not surprised. Idiot. Its a book. Open your eyes - or are you too worried about opening your legs? Useless brat."

Anger and hurt twists Olivia's insides, the pain is acute - concentrated and she blinks hard, trying to appear unbothered. Yes she was used to this, but there were only so many times she could stomach being called useless.

And this last time was one too many.

She snaps.

"You know, if I'm so useless, then maybe you should have gotten an abortion." The words tumble from her lips, dropping like bricks into the open air, and Olivia immediately regrets them. The next few moments are a blur.

Shrill, humorless laughter erupts from Serena's lips, something akin to a banshee, and drunk or not, she's quick to her feet, delivering a harsh and heavy handed slap to Olivia's left cheek.

Olivia's hand flies to her cheek and she's stunned, her bottom lip stings as she realizes she's bit it. Dark eyes wide, cheek stinging, she looks at her mother. Serena's graying hair sticks out in all directions and her slate eyes are wild, bloodshot and hard.

"I've sacrificed m'life to give you yours." Serena shouts, words slow and heavy, as if she's trying her best not to mess them up in some shape or form. "Lived with the constant reminder of that night. Every time I look at you. Those eyes. They stare at me, full of malice and they hurt. They hurt so much because they're his-"

"Mom…" Olivia whispers, knowing she's made a huge mistake. "I'm…" She's not allotted a chance to finish her words. Serena's hand wraps around Olivia's upper arm, nails digging into her daughter's sunkissed flesh.

"I drink to stomach you, now get out." Serena hisses, almost tripping over herself as she drags Olivia's towards the front door. "Leave you ungrateful little bitch."

Olivia cries as she feels her mother's nails break skin. Fear grips her as she tries to maintain her balance whilst walking backwards. "You're hurting me, mom." All she wants to do is crawl under her bed and hide - just like she had often done as a child. "I didn't mean it, I meant-"

"OUT!" And Serena's fumbling with the screen door, the alcohol dulling her senses. When she's finally able to push the screen door open, she shoves Olivia hard, almost slipping herself in the process.

Olivia stumbles, tears blurring her eyes as she hears the front door bang shut paired with the familiar click of a lock entering its chamber. "Mom!" She bangs her hand against the hard aluminum of the door. "Mom, I didn't mean it!"

There is no answer, only silence and the sound of shattering glass.

/

She's been pacing, walking aimlessly in circles, crying her eyes out. Sand seeps into her tennis shoes and there's a slight chill to the evening. She knows that she only has one place to go - one place she _can_ go, but she can't bring herself to head in that direction.

It isn't that she doesn't want to see him - doesn't want to tuck herself away in his large and comforting form. It's that she doesn't want to burden him; stack her issues on top of his when scenes like this with Serena were sadly the norm.

But it's getting cold and late, so she turns on her heels and heads to the Stabler's.

/

Something's wrong.

The knot in that twists in the pit of her stomach tells her as much and her eyes only confirm the ominous feeling as she approaches her boyfriend's beach house.

Brown glass perhaps that of a beer bottle, crunches beneath her white trainers, fear courses through her body as she climbs the steps to the Stabler home. Other than the waves crashing into the beach, silence lingers in air. She's on the landing when the front door bangs open, Ethan shoves past her in a hurry and the screen door bangs shut behind him.

"Ethan!" she shouts, watching as he disappears in a huff down the beach. Fear ratchets Olivia's gut as she takes in the scene, through the glass of the door. Overturned furniture, ripped paint canvases, and a few holes in the wall greet her gaze.

Moments later Elliot appears, lip busted, the skin beneath his right eye purpling. Fear turns to concern and Olivia crosses the landing, gasping as Elliot crosses the threshold. "Oh my god, El."

"It's okay, Liv. I'm okay," he assures her, but Olivia's fingertips still probe the darkening skin beneath his eye cautiously. The bruise is fresh, angry underneath the bright incandescent lights of the porch.

She's so busy inspecting his injuries that she ignores her own, the throbbing in her cheek forgotten, and the stinging of her split lip ignored.

"Who the fuck hit you?" Elliot asks, his voice dropping a few octaves as his own hand reaches up to trace the palm print indent in her cheek. The anger in his voice apparent.

Olivia freezes her hands stilling as she silently berates herself for forgetting about her face. She pulls away from his hand, her eyes averting his worried gaze.

"Don't, El. I'm fine." Olivia insists, her own fingers replacing his and she can feel the dried blood on her cracked lip.

"Like hell you are. Did - did your mom do this?" And there's something in his expression that tells Olivia he knows; he knows what kind of mother Serena is or rather can be; that she hasn't hid it nearly as well as she thought she had.

"El, I said I'm fine." She states with forced assurance. In all honesty, she isn't okay, not in the slightest. Serena's cruelness, the truth in her words still grips her tightly.

"You're not fine. Why did she hit you?"

"Look, it's nothing and it's my fault anyways. I said something I shouldn't have. Just let it go," Olivia implores, eyes pleading. "Please?"

She watches his brows knit together in consideration and he shakes his head. "I'm sick of people putting their hands on people that can't fight back. Sick of this shit!" He shouts, the power behind his voice causes Olivia to jump and she knows something's gravelly wrong.

"El, Elliot… what happened?" She asks softly, glancing down at the brown glass beneath her feet. "Was this you and your dad? You and Joe? Where is your mom and Liz?"

Something changes in him. He chuckles darkly, pulling away from her. "I don't even know."

Which question he's responding to, she doesn't know.

Olivia's heart tugs, breaking for him, and she can see the fear that colors his baby blues, "El…" She reaches for him, but he pulls away again, and her fingers grab at empty space as he disappears into the house.

Unsure of what to do, Olivia follows him inside; her own problems momentarily at bay because for her, dealer with the problems of others meant not dealing with her own. And right now, Elliot needed her.

/

She finds Elliot standing in the kitchen, beer bottle pressed against his lips, and the sight along causes Olivia's heart to clinch; her eyes taking in the state of the kitchen.

Simply calling it a mess doesn't even begin to describe what her eyes sees. It looks as if the Stabler's were preparing to sit down to dinner when all hell broke loose. A stack of plates - perhaps china, balance precariously on edge of the table, close to tipping over the edge. A silver pot with pasta sauce spilling from it rests on the floor in front of the stove, and a couple of chairs are overturned.

Uncertain of what to say and Elliot offering no explanation or conversation for fodder, Olivia opts to collect the plates before they shatter against the wood floors.

"I'm gonna put these away…" She tells him as she gathers the dishes in hand, brown eyes scanning the cupboards above the kitchen sink.

"Just leave them." Elliot mutters, mouth against the top of the beer, but Olivia doesn't hear him completely. She balances the plates in hand, opening a cupboard when everything happens.

The plates are yanked from her hands with such force that Olivia is jerked a few paces ahead. They sail to the floor in a loud, successive bang and clamoring crash.

"Leave them!" Elliot shouts, the timber in his voices causes Olivia to recoil. Glass shards fly everywhere and she can feel the slivers slash against her skin.

"El..." Her voice is barely above a whisper, shock grasps her vocal cords. She's never seen him angry, not like this at least. Deep breaths in, she tries to remain calm, blinking hard.

"Let it be, Liv."

"Okay," Olivia concedes, voice small as her trainers crunch against broken glass. She stands still for a moment, mouth slightly agape, eyes flitting about, and nervousness seeping into her bones. An uncomfortable silence hangs in air and Elliot just sips from his beer bottle, standing against the wall opposite her.

She sidesteps the glass, mouth dry and voice low. "El, whatever happened, you can tell me…"

"Liv…"

"Let me help you, El...Please…" She prods, the silence between them too heavy to bear; for once, uncomfortable. He isn't saying anything, and the way his chest heaves, brows knit together, and his fingers grip the beer bottle in hand, he's scaring her.

"Liv…"

"We don't have to talk about -" She doesn't get a chance to finish her words. Instead, the glass bottle in Elliot's hand shatters against the oven door - maybe two or three feet from where Olivia stands. She yelps, the tears immediate as Elliot flies at her, seizing both of her wrists in each of his hands and backing her against the sink.

"Just shut the fuck up, Olivia." He hisses, eyes dark, breath alcohol saturated and she can tell that the beer bottle that just shattered against the floor wasn't his first, and the hurt in his eyes runs deeper than whatever had transpired before her arrival.

Either way, she knows that this not the safe haven she'd wanted - the shelter from her mother's tirade.

"Elliot, stop. You're - you're hurting me. Stop it." She tries to pull her wrists from his grip but it serves only to strengthen his hold.

"Shut up!" He shouts again, and his blue eyes are hard, frightening and Olivia can't help but tremble in fear.

"El, please…it hurts." She whispers, voice soft and cracking as her burning eyes meet his hard gaze. She isn't sure if she's referring to the physical grip he has on her or the mental and emotional turmoil currently choking her; either way, she's in pain.

Something in Elliot cracks then, Olivia can tell by the way he crumbles; the way his eyes soften. His hands immediately let go of her wrists and the heels of his palms sink into his eyes, pressing hard as he rubs at the flesh.

"Fuck, Liv…" The venom in his voice is gone. He sinks to the floor in front of her, kneeling in glass, and he cries. "I'm just like him." He whispers, shoulders shaking.

Breathing deeply, tears stinging her eyes, Olivia steps from in front of him and sinks down beside him, the floor beneath her wet. She doesn't know what to do, so she cries with him.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Alright, it's 2.18am and i have to be up at 4am. No biggie. Anyways, I'm back with a very long, very interesting chapter that I hope you enjoy. I actually hate this chapter, but hey - I've rewritten it four times. And this is the only version I like. so bleh. there are some sexual situations ahead.

Remember it's getting bleak. summer lovin' is slipping away...oh tell me more, tell more... i'll stop now.

also, i just have to say that i'm very excited that the U.S is normalizing relations with Cuba because that means I can finally visit mi isla, mi patria - my papi's homeland. so that's the exciting news that's kept me up all night, calling family members in extreme elation, which also eventually led me to finish this chapter. haha.

Hope you enjoy, and, if you get a chance and haven't done so, feel free to check out my new two-shot (for now) What Is And What Should Never Be. It's set in season 11 and i'm woking on the second part right now.

PS: please don't fav w/o reviewing. it drives me bananas. even if it's one word, just say something or i'm giving up on you. ;)

* * *

><p>Chapter 17: Father's Shadow<p>

Philip Larkin, the name pops into her head as she stares at the wood paneled floor, covered in shattered glass and tomato sauce as silent tears stream down her face.

He's an English poet, author of her favourite poem that, without thinking, she finds herself mouthing. Her hands shake as she recites the words to the first verse, gripping the cuffs of her shorts.

_"They fuck you up, your mum and dad._

_They may not mean to, but they do._

_They fill you with the faults they had_

_And add some extra, just for you."_

Irony washes over her in waves; his dad and her mom: they're both fucked up, and now this is where they stand. On the floor in tears, fighting the footprints of their parents.

Pieces of glass dig into her shins, the smell of beer sinks into her skin and she repeats the words like a mantra, "and add some extra, just for you…."

In her peripheral she can see Elliot sobbing into his hands, and she's torn. In her mind she's trying to reconcile the person next to her - the anger, the violence - with the boy who'd so gently caressed her body, whispering epithets of love and appreciation in the crook of her neck only days prior.

He moves towards her and her reaction is innate, she recoils away from him, unable to stop herself. The sting of his grip is still fresh in her mind, and the sound of shattering glass echoes in her memory.

This isn't the Elliot she'd fallen in love with on the beach only weeks ago; this is a stranger resting in his skin.

Olivia knows that her reaction doesn't go unnoticed, either, as his hands reach for her but end up only gripping air. She levels him with a glare. "Don't. Touch. Me."

"Liv…I'm sorry." Maybe It's a plea, maybe its a hail Mary, either way Elliot's words cause something in Olivia to snap.

He's sorry. Everyone is always sorry. Her mother, Elliot...

She bats at his hands, unable to stop herself from lunging at him, fists hitting against his chest as she shoves and pulls, crying and yelling.

"You weren't supposed to hurt me. You weren't supposed to hurt me! Not you!" She shouts, a strange mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through her veins. The strength of his grip, the power behind his broad shoulders all can stop her, hurt her if he chooses to strike back, but she pushes on.

And Elliot just lets her, not trying to deflect any of her blows until her hands are frantically pulling at him; nails scratching scratching the skin of his forearms raw. Only then does he grab her wrists, far gentler than the first time and he kisses each one where his fingerprints have already started to purple her skin, crying with her.

"I'm so sorry, Liv. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I didn't. I don't want to be like him. I don't…"

"Everyone hurts me. Everyone. My mother, my fath...I thought you were different..." Olivia cries, caving against his chest as he drags her into his lap and presses a flurry of kisses against her temple. The smell of stale beer rests on his breathe and Olivia cries harder, a valve in her breaking.

Maybe, she thinks, this is what her life is destined to be chalked full of; faux happiness followed by real abuse. Maybe that's all she deserved as the daughter of a rapist.

/

She doesn't realize that she's fallen asleep until she wakes to a stinging sensation in her legs. Her her eyes fly open and she jolts forward, head colliding with Elliot's and she realizes that she's on his bed, in the room he shares with his brother.

"Ow." They hiss in unison and Olivia falls back against a set of pillows, rubbing her forehead. The room is dark, lit only by a dim lamp in the far right corner.

She squints, recognising the feel of Elliot's fingertips against her skin and chances a glance down to find a bottle of peroxide and a cotton ball in his hands.

"You fell asleep." He whispers, voice hoarse, thick perhaps with exhaustion. "I was just cleaning...slivers...glass. Fuck Liv, I'm so sorry I hurt you."

She doesn't want to cry any more, but she can't stop the tears that sting the corner of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. Her calves itch and her chest hurts. His words sound genuine enough and she wants to believe him, but a tinge fear holds tight in her gut. So many times she's heard stories of women being abused and she doesn't want to be one.

"I thought you were going to hit me." She confesses, voice cracking. "Smack me around because I did something to deserve it because I just wanted you to feel better..."

Elliot's hands still and he looks as if he may cry again. "Fuck, I'd never lay my hands on you -"

"You sure about that?" she hisses holding up a wrist. "But what's worse is that I'd probably be one of those girls I hate. The ones that make excuses for their boyfriends because they think he's only one who loves them. Except in my case it's true. My mother hates me, I don't have a father or brothers or sisters..."

He doesn't look at her, he just sits up near her ankles on the edge of the bed.

Her voice wavers. "You hurt me. Why?"

"I didn't mean to, but I'm so sorry. So sorry." He whispers over and over again, crawling up the bed until he's beside her (having set the peroxide down), nuzzling her neck, and trying to make her look at him. "Look at me, Liv. Please look at me."

But she refuses; she shakes her head, eyes closed as she turns towards the wall, the bed creaking beneath them.

"No."

"Please, Liv. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His lips are wet, warm against her flesh as he kisses her forehead best he can in their current positions; and then he kisses her cheeks, chin.

He's begging her; voice soft, and her stomach trembles. She thinks about what her mother would say right now - about men being wolves in sheeps clothing and laughs, though there's no humor to her voice. Oh the irony. Serena had warned her so many times over about men growing fangs and claws in the dark of night, but never about mother's who devoured their daughter's on sight.

"I'm sorry, baby. So sorry. So, so, sorry. I love you so much…" And his arms are around her, caging her between the wall and his body, refusing to let her look away any longer. She turns to look at him, and the look on his face is like a punch in her heart. Electricity flows through the blue of his irises and it contrasts against the red veins that peak out of the white. He's crying.

Olivia finds her resolve cracking, disappearing quicker than ice during a heat wave.

"El, you scared me…" she cries, not sure what she's trying to accomplish by repeating the words, knowing they won't lessen the pain. She turns back towards him and he kisses her softly on the lips, his tongue reaching out to soothe the cut on her bottom lip that's swelling before dancing up her cheek to where a purplish bruise is forming.

One of his hands dances down her bare thigh, and slowly, almost tentatively, his lips start to work their way down her body.

All of her resolve is just about gone, replaced by that familiar warmness that seems to only make an appearance when Elliot's playing her body. She slams her eyes shut, trying to bypass the flutter of nerves rocking over her as his lips slide across the waistband of her shorts and his nose brushes against the bit of exposed skin of her stomach.

"El..." she rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms, trying to maintain control of her body.

"Please, Liv, I love you so much, so fucking much..." his voice is husky, hot against her stomach as he presses a warm kiss against her belly button, inching her shirt up in the process.

The warm feeling spreads and her heart thumps in her chest. Salty tears sting her lips and she shakes her head, expelling hot breathe as she tries to steady her heartbeat. "Sex isn't a resolution, El; and we can't anyways, we don't have a condom."

"I don't want sex, I want to make you feel better."

The 'how' she's prepared to ask dies on her lips when his fingers slip beneath her waistband and brush along her core, causing her hips to jolt forward. Any intention she had of calming her heart beat to a normal rhythm flies out the door. Her fingers dig into the bedspread and her breathing hitches.

"Just relax, let me take care of you..."

And the look in his eyes leaves her nodding, telling her that what he's about to do to her body with his hands is far different than the time she'd let one of her mother's students feel her up. The boy with the sandy blonde hair and bright green eyes that had fumbled in-delicately with the button of her jeans before he'd shoved his entire hand inside her pants, grunted into her mouth, and grabbed at her hands until she did the same, leaving crying in disgust and shame after it was all said and done.

But there isn't anything in Elliot's caresses leaves her wanting to cry; it's just the opposite actually. His touch is different - slow, and soft. Sensual and erotic as he unbuttons her shorts and slides them down her hips, dropping them to the floor.

Olivia watches him, her voice caught in her throat as he situates himself beside her; his oversized fingers curling around the band of her underwear and pulling them off, too, tossing them onto the ground in a heap along with her shorts. She trembles, this time in anticipation as his hand softly strokes between her legs, causing them to spread wider, and a low moan leaves her lips.

"You okay?" He asks her, and Olivia can feel one of his fingers slip inside of her, followed by another as her body tenses and then goes slack. All she can do is nod her response, eyes closed and head tilted to the side.

The room is spinning.

"El…" She cries, coherent thoughts non-existent as white-hot lights explode behind her eyelids and he plays a pattern with his fingers along her core.

"Shh...I'm taking care of you." He whispers, his lips finding her neck and he sucks on the soft flesh.

Olivia's hips fall into a rhythm with his fingers and she lets her head loll back, breathing heavily.

His lips leave her neck, trailing a wet path from her clavicle to her stomach and Olivia barely notices what he's doing until she feels his fingers withdraw from the juncture between her legs. Opening her eyes, her cheeks turn a crimson red as she comes to find him between her legs, a grin on his face.

Suddenly a feeling of self-consciousness kicks in and she tries to sit up, but Elliot stops her. His fingers are strangely cool against the warm skin of her stomach and her eyes are wild, confused as she searches his face for answers.

"What...what are you, El - I've never...what…"

"It's okay, Liv. It's okay…" He tells her, pressing gently on her stomach and Olivia takes that as her signal to lie back, but she can't. He's so close, so close and she's so exposed...

"I…"

"Just say stop and I stop." But she can see it in his eyes, he doesn't want to stop, and she isn't so certain that she wants him to stop, either. She remembers a few girls in the gym locker room at the beginning of the school year talking about how a guy going down on them was the best thing to happen to them ever, and suddenly she doesn't want him to stop. The words die on her lips and she leans back, falling against the pillows that smell distinctly of Elliot and she bites her bottom lip, gasping at what he does next.

/

Her body is heavy, though strangely light, all the stress from earlier seemingly gone. She finds herself tucked into Elliot's embrace, chin hooked over his shoulder, with one of his arms slung around her waist, and the other making a mess of her hair. She stares at the empty bed, presumably Ethan's, across the room, content.

_This_ is her Elliot. This is her safe haven. This is who she wishes would have greeted her at the door hours ago. His touch is soft and she's putty beneath his fingers, silently laughing at the backwardness of their summer sexcapades. They'd hit a home-run before ever crossing third base just to double back.

A yawn escapes Olivia's lips, and she nuzzles at his neck before re-situating herself within his hold so that they're almost face-to-face. Her forehead presses against his, and nimble, nervous fingers trace the bruise beneath his lashes, underneath his left eye. Though the room's dimly lit, she can tell that the swelling is only getting worse and she still has no idea what transpired in the Stabler household previous to her arrival.

But she was about to find out.

"What happened, El?" She whispers into the darkness, her body tensing ever so slightly and she steels herself, ready for him to implode once more, though hoping he doesn't.

There is no implosion. Just a sigh of exhaustion, a whistling of air from Elliot's lungs as his fingers stop pulling through her chocolate locks and he speaks.

"Liv, I just - you've gotta know that I'd never hit you. Ever. Please say you believe me."

Though the fear from earlier is still fresh in her mind - that crazed look in his eyes, his rigid posture - something inside of Olivia tells her that he'd throw himself off of the empire state building rather than hit her, so she nods.

"I wouldn't, I wouldn't ever. Please say you believe me."

He needs verbal confirmation and Olivia flashes back to earlier, when he'd crumbled to his knees and she thinks about the words that came out of his mouth. _I'm just like him_ and realization dawns on her. The first night she'd met Elliot, Joe's mistress had called the Stabler home; Joe was always gone, Bernie was always alone with Liz.

Olivia swallows hard, voice low, almost inaudible as she asks, "El, does your dad hit your mom?"

"Does your mom hit you?" Elliot responds, pulling away from her embrace and sitting up. There's no malice to his tone, no anger in his voice. It's just a question that leaves Olivia biting her bottom lip - her mother's voice in her head yelling at her to stop.

His back is to her and she sighs heavily, following suit as she sits up too, still gnawing at her bottom lip. She doesn't like to think much about her mother's anger, her sharp slaps, the bottles Serena sometimes threw; it was easier to pretend that everything was okay by refusing to acknowledge the truth.

"Yeah, sometimes she does." Olivia confesses, her hands falling into her lap as she suddenly finds her nails in need of inspection because it hurt to look at him; to admit out loud what so many before him had suspected. "It's usually the words that hurt the most, though."

"Is that what happened tonight? Words?" He asks, gaze trained on the wall in front of him as he works a hand against his jaw. In the dim light of the room, Olivia can see a bit of razor stubble along his chin and she smiles somberly at his handsomeness.

"No," Olivia whispers, pushing a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear, "tonight was the Benson special, a slap in the face and a kick out the door. But I said something I shouldn't have, though, so it's my fault."

"It's not your fault." His tone is hard - demanding - purposeful and leaving no room for negotiation as he turns to look at her. "She shouldn't have hit you."

The sting of her mother's palm is still fresh in Olivia's memory and she's certain she'll have a bruise on her cheek come morning, but she believes, still, that her words - no matter what Elliot said - were unwarranted and deserved some form of punishment. Perhaps a slap to the face wasn't the best way to go to prove a point, though.

"But it's yours? Your dad's fists?"

Elliot's gaze turns back to the spot on the wall he'd so intently studied moments ago and Olivia bites at her bottom lip harder, drying blood. The taste of metal fills her mouth and she grimaces, suddenly feeling very sticky and just an all around mess; her cheeks itch, her palms are sweaty, and her eyes feel like they're brimming with sand.

"It's not your fault either, El." She reaches for him, grabbing one of his hands that rests atop his knees, and threads her fingers in his. "And you're nothing like him. No matter what happened tonight." To Olivia, it doesn't matter that she's only known him just shy a month, what matters to her is that she knows his heart.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Her words must be what he wants to hear because he turns then, and untangles their hands. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close until he can press a kiss to her temple.

He leans in, breath hot on her neck, and he whispers, "She doesn't deserve you."

_I'm not going to cry again_, Olivia thinks, but the tears are already building behind her eyes and her throat tightens.

"Yeah?" She croaks, letting her head fall onto his shoulder.

"Yeah." He tells her, and his lips press against her forehead and Olivia closes her eyes.

For a while they just sit there, savouring the comfortable silence; the waves beating back against the beach serving as their soundtrack.

Olivia breaks the silence first, wiping at her sticky cheeks as she untangles herself from him. "So, can I get a shower?" She asks, laughing softly, knowing full well that she has nothing to wear, but wanting desperately to shake off the days incidents with some warm water and soap. "And a t-shirt to sleep in if you have it?"

"Well, you're just asking for the world," Elliot jokes, though adding softly - almost inaudibly - for if she hadn't been listening closely, she wouldn't have heard him, "and if I could give it to you, I would."

"You love me." Olivia responds, her heart finding its way back to the fast-paced flutter that earlier events threatened to squash, as he gets out of bed, and heads over to the dresser that separates the two beds in the room. He throws her a too large t-shirt that lands on her head, and she rolls her eyes, shaking her head and letting it fall into her lap.

"I do."

As she gets out of bed, sheet wrapped around her lower half, tank top hanging off of her shoulder, and his shirt tightly in her grasp, once again, Philip Larkin pops into Olivia's thoughts.

"They fuck you up." She says as she moseys over to his bedroom door, standing in it and glancing over at him.

"What?" Elliot asks, clearly confused.

"Your parents, they fuck you up. They may not mean to, but they do…it's a poem. Kind of ironic that it applies to both of us, huh?"

It's humorless laughter that leaves Elliot's lips and he nods. "Yeah."

/

The sun shines through the cracked blinds, basking the room in bright yellow light. Olivia stirs, cracking an eyelid open as the previous night's events replay in her thoughts. There's an arm slung over her waist and a thick thigh sandwiched between her legs belonging to Elliot. She turns in his embrace, readjusting her position so that one of her legs is hooked over his hip; her fingertips brush over the shaggy strands of hair that rest on the top of his head.

She let's her hand drop to the top of his bare shoulder while her eyes rake unapologetically up and down his torso. Soft snores slip from his lips. Memories of their first time together only days prior make Olivia smile and suddenly all she wants is to feel him; run her tongue along his lips and grind her hips into his. The fact that didn't last night due to lack of a protection slips her mind; she's only focused on one thing.

Her fingers curl around his bicep, tugging him towards her as she leans forward, capturing his lips in hers. The kiss is tentative at first, slow and soft. Part of her, a real small part, fears waking him. Last night had been such a roller-coaster of emotions. The other part of her, the part currently winning out, can feel his body reacting to her presence. The arm that's slung around her waist suddenly pulls her in closer. His tongue slips into her mouth and they're both moaning into the kiss.

"Good morning to you too." He whispers as they break apart, foreheads pressed together.

"Morning." Olivia grins, her cheeks flashing a bright red. Her skin is hot, and warmness builds in her lower belly. She can feel him, all of him, pressing against her. From the rise and fall of his chest to the way his fingers rest in the dip of her waist, he's turning her on.

"I'm sorry about last night, Liv. I didn't-"

She silences him with her lips, mouth warm and demanding, tongue sliding along his bottom lip, biting down on it gently. His hand reaches up to tangle in her dark strands and she turns them over so that she's straddling him.

Instinct takes over for Olivia, and she grinds her pelvis against his. A light moan slips from her lips and his hands drop to her hips. His oversized fingers bite into the fabric of her underwear, and his hips buck upward.

"Mmmm," Olivia moans into the kiss, fingers gripping the pillow above his head, twisting the fabric. She doesn't want to be too loud; house occupancy it's still in the air, and the sun has only just risen. But fuck if his movements don't feel good.

Especially when his hands leave her hips and skim her ass until they're slipping between her legs and brushing against her core.

A guttural moan falls from her lips and her head lolls back.

"Lets, oh...uh...god you feel so good. Oh god, fuck me." Olivia pleads, shocking herself with the bluntness of her words, but she wants this, him again. Once wasn't enough. Not when the rough pads of his palms and sweet taste of his tongue against hers only served to set her on fire. The wetness between her legs is stifling, uncomfortable.

"Liv, are you sure?"

Purposefully and painfully slow she sinks down against him, and then reaches out to grab one of his hands palming her ass. She guides it to the juncture between her legs, urging him to feel how wet she is; how ready to go.

"Shit, Liv..."

"Shut up and make love to me."

Apparently that's all the convincing Elliot needs because he sits up, hands yanking on the hem of his oversized baseball t-shirt he'd handed her last night to sleep in, and he pulls it over her head. Underneath she wears only her purple satin underwear.

A low, guttural growl sounds from him, at the new, exposed flesh. "You're going to be the death of me," he mutters, mouth descending on her clavicle, one hand on each thigh. He turns them over so that he's resting between her legs, the length of him pressed hard against her core, mouth unwavering as it begins to travel the length of her torso.

His breaths are warm as his nose skims across her lower belly; a chaste kiss is pressed against the hem of her underwear before his mouth travels upward once more. He kisses each breast before flicking a tongue over each nipple, and then taking the left into his mouth. Her eyes flutter shut and her breathing hitches.

Olivia's fingers find their way to his hair and she yanks on the wispy strands and rocking her hips upwards against his. Any initial hesitation she'd had went out the door after the fooling around they'd done the night before; his apologies coming from the tip of his tongue against her most private parts.

Elliot's hands travel to the waistband up her underwear and he's inching them over her hips, down and off her legs, mouth continuing their machinations. Plucking and teasing until she's almost mewing beneath him when a sudden burst of confidence over takes Olivia. Her eyes open and she tugs on his hair ever so slightly, looking to gain his attention.

"El, wait… I … I want to be on top." she tells him honestly, cheeks flashing red and she bites down on her lip, a tinge of embarrassment wringing her gut. Their first time together had been perfect, truly, but a bit of initial discomfort was hard to forget when her body was so wholly bent at the will of another. This time, she wants to lead.

"Yeah?" he asks, brow quirked.

"Yeah...I mean, if you don't mind. I just, I want to try it both ways so that I know what best suits me and like I - the discomfort - I mean, you were good last time - I - I hope I was good, but my legs, the stretch and you're heavy..." she stumbles, trying to best figure out how to explain her request when he stops her by flipping them over once more. Olivia yelps as she finds herself spinning and then suddenly resting, naked, on top of Elliot.

"I like this view better anyways." He tells her, eyes scanning up her torso, hands skimming her sides before cupping each breast. "Told you, Liv. However you want this, whatever you want, it's up to you."

"Then I guess it's time for you to take your pants off then, huh?" Olivia asks, cheeks red as her hands grab onto the waistband of his boxers and she tugs on them. He wriggles out of his last impeding item of clothing and Olivia finds herself suddenly hyper aware of what's happening. The confidence that she had a few moments prior is slowly disappearing and she looks at him, at a lost.

"It's okay, Liv…" He reassures her, smiling, his hands gently guiding her hips down onto him, and Olivia gasps, hands grabbing at his bare chest. Her body tenses slightly and though she's not in pain, the discomfort leaves much to be desired. "Fuck, you're so tight, so perfect. Just… just go slow. Control it."

Nodding, Olivia follows his instructors. She begins to move, her eyes locking on Elliot's, as her hips crash down against his and the discomfort fades, slowly but surely. Their hips jerk in tune, finding a rhythm and any linger pain morphs into pleasure.

"El…" Olivia moans, finding it hard to keep herself upright and her hips in motion as that familiar sensation builds in the bottom of her stomach.

Her nails dig into the skin of his shoulders; traveling down his arms and creating crisscross patterns on his flesh that falls in line with the scratches she'd given him last night in anger. His fingers bit into the flesh of her hips the air fills with soft grunts, ragged panting, and low moans.

Soon, they're both coming undone together.

/

In her younger years, Olivia never saw the validity of playing house. While other little girls dreamed of weddings and marriages, imagining life post wedding, Olivia enjoyed getting lost in the fictional world trapped between the pages of a book. And she rarely read romance novels or fairytales either. Prince Charming was a myth, romance was dead, and a wolf lurked behind every man.

But now, as she sits, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, barefoot, bare legged, in only her boyfriend's t-shirt, on the kitchen countertop, she finds herself believing in happily-ever-after's and riding off into sunsets.

Dressed only in his boxers, Elliot scrambles eggs in a frying pan and Olivia sips juice from a mug; they're still alone. Bernie has Liz down at Gladys', Joe is just gone, and Ethan is at his buddy's place. Only a few remnants of yesterday's mess remain. The kitchens been swept up, the chair turned upright, and the tomato mess mopped up.

This is a small piece of domestic bliss is a mild comfort, a stolen piece of heaven from God himself. And Olivia is hell-bent on enjoying herself before she has to return home, casting caution off into the sea breeze without second thought. Which is why when he hands her a piping hot plate of eggs, and settles in next to her with his own, she doesn't hesitate before snatching a chunk of egg from his plate and popping it in her mouth.

Egg bits drip from her lips and hang from her fingertips as she grins, shrugging innocently. "What can I say, sex apparently makes me hungry..."

He throws her a look of affront, and then rolls his eyes. "Me too, egg thief."

"You love me, though." She states, taking a bite of her own plate, hot sauce rolling over her swollen lips and she moans. "God that's good."

"I do love you…." He agrees, chuckling.

Olivia feels her heart flutter in her chest and she sets her half eaten plate down on the counter next to her, and jumps down.

"I love you…" she whispers, the words feather light against the humid morning air. He smiles and does as she had moments ago, sets his food on the counter and pushes back from it. His arms immediately circle around her waist and pull her close, lips finding hers.

They stay there for a moment, peppering each other with soft kisses and light caresses. Her egg covered fingers bite into his bare shoulders and they just touch each other, staying in the moment.

Then a persistent, harsh knock interrupts them, startling Olivia. She jumps back from Elliot, her eyes dancing over to the kitchen door that lead out onto the back porch and to the beach.

Her breath stills, brows furrow, and she looks up at Elliot, wondering who is could be.

"Just give me one sec, we'll finish right where we started. Let me just get whoever this is to go away." Elliot tells her, pulling back. Reluctantly his hands drop from her backside and he walks towards the door, opening it as Olivia scurries towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms for cover.

"Where is she? Where's my daughter? Olivia! OLIVIA!"

Ice runs through Olivia's veins at the familiar timbre and she stops dead in her tracks.

Serena.

"Where is she?"

The sound of heels clicking along hardwood reverberates through the air, closely followed by Elliot's stammering.

"Ms. Benson…"

"If you hurt her in anyway, I will kill you. Olivia!" The footsteps, presumably Serena's, grow closer. Olivia chews on her bottom lip, as she stands against the hallway wall, too frightened to move.

"I would never hurt her. Look if you could just calm down…"

SMACK. "_Never_ put your hands on me again, boy."

Without thinking, Olivia rounds the corner, eyes falling on the scene in front of her. Elliot's holding his jaw and Serena's hand is raised; her eyes are bright red, clothes wrinkled, but she's almost sober. Olivia can tell by the grasp she has on her speech.

"Mom, don't!"


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hi all, first off, Happy New Year! 2015's gotta be better than 2014 right? Anyways, I started this story a year ago come January 21st and I'm still hanging in here; still holding on. And you're still reading and putting up with me.

I'd like to send thanks to lucyspencer, too, who puts up with me constantly, Roanie123 who always leaves the sweetest comments, and everyone else who reviews. Thank you.

Also, I got some pretty upsetting news today - and of course I have to get it on the first day of the New Year huh? - So I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a review. Please. Those little notifications always manage to make me smile and I could use that right now.

Warning for dark times ahead and the mention of rape.

PS: Thanks for reading and please: don't favourite/follow without reviewing. It drives me bananas.

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><p>Chapter 18: No Sun on the Horizon<p>

The silence that settles in is stifling, unbearable, and menacing as Olivia finds herself standing in between her mother and her boyfriend. Her heart thumps madly in her chest as she glances at her mother.

The French Twist that usually contains Serena's greying dark honey blonde hair hangs, partially unraveled around her ears. Lines of weary frame her face, tug at the corners of her mouth, and sink in her cheeks. She's essentially expressionless, save for her roaming eyes. Harsh and unforgiving, Serena's eyes rake up and down Olivia's barely clothed form, sending a chill down Olivia's spine.

While Elliot is at least for inches taller than Olivia, his shirt barely cut mid thigh, leaving the rest of her tan long legs - along with proof of their lovemaking - exposed. All along her thighs sit tiny purplish bruises from either Elliot's mouth or fingertips, and she's not wearing any undergarments. They're currently scattered along the floor of Elliot's bedroom. Further proof of their dalliance.

Olivia can feel her hands tremor so slightly as she grips the bottom of the shirt, cheeks flushing red.

But still, no one says anything. Serena just stares and Elliot just stands. Olivia doesn't know what to make of the situation.

Not until she feels Elliot's hands on her shoulders in an apparent gesture of comfort and all hell breaks lose.

"Get your hands off of my daughter!" Serena orders, and she snaps out of whatever haze she'd been in. "Now!"

And Elliot drops his hands from Olivia's shoulders.

"Get dressed Olivia." Serena orders, "We're leaving. _Now_."

"Mom, I'm -" the words fade off and Olivia isn't sure what she is aside from terrified.

"Get dressed. NOW!" She screeches and Olivia bristles, flinching, and eyes slamming shut. Snapshots of last night and her argument with Serena filter through her thoughts. When she finally opens her she finds Elliot standing in front of her, wondering when they'd even switched positions.

"Hey! You do not yell at her in my house; she's not your punching bag here!"

His words tie her stomach in knots and she knows she's going to pay for his outburst later. The anger radiating from her mother is damn near tangible and the situation's only growing worse by the second.

"El, don't." Olivia pleads, reaching out to grab one of his elbows. Her eyes flit down his arms as she does so and she can see she's done a number on him; scratched him to hell in anger and pleasure. But this isn't good. Not in the slightest because she knows the course her mother's mind likes to take.

But if Serena's noticed the gesture, the touching between them, she doesn't say anything. Instead, she laughs, bitter and contrite before she reels on Elliot, a finger jabbing into his chest. He shoves Serena's hand away. Behind him Olivia shudders, wanting nothing more than to sink into Elliot, take shelter in his frame. But she knows she can't. Not when the situation has the probability to escalate.

"You don't tell me how to talk to my daughter. Not after what you've done to her. Olivia, get your things. Now."

"Mom, please!" Olivia begs as Elliot shoves Serena's hand away, which only serves to infuriate the older woman. She's seething.

"What I've done to her?" Elliot asks. "You've got some brass you crazy -"

"Elliot, please!"

"I'm not blind and I will be calling the cops and pressing assault charges." Serena shouts, she sidesteps Elliot and one of her slender hands wraps around Olivia's wrist, yanking her hand away from Elliot. "Go get dressed!"

But she doesn't hear Serena; the only thing she hears is the echoing of the word assault. She bristles at the thought of her mother taking legal action to demonize something that she considers the epitome of good, making love to Elliot.

A sharp tug pulls Olivia from her thoughts and she sees that somehow she's snatched her hand from her mother's grasp. Elliot's standing, chest rising and falling rapidly, ears bright red and all she can think is...

"He didn't hurt me, he loves me."

"He loves your naivety and body, now go get some damn clothes on. I didn't raise a slut!"

"Get the hell out of my house!" Elliot shouts and there's no sun on the horizon because the air in the room is only getting thicker.

And if things couldn't get any worse, the air any thicker, the back door swings open and in walks Bernie with a babbling Liz. Olivia shrinks back, her attire or rather lack thereof, causes her face to turn beet red and this entire situation leaves her wanting to crawl under the kitchen table and cry.

Bernie removes her sunglasses and scarf, a bruise rests under her eye and Olivia's suspicions are confirmed. Liz then catches sight of Olivia and rushes towards her, arms flailing.

"Livvie!"

"Elliot, what's going on?" Bernie questions, setting her things on the kitchen table.

"Livvie, why are you in El's shirt and what happened to your face?"

And Olivia knows the question is harmless in nature, just the musings of a little girl, but the tears chalked full of frustration and fear still fall. Liz hangs onto Olivia's waste, chin digging into Olivia's thigh and bright blue eyes sparkling.

"Get. Dressed." Serena orders, Bernie's eyes go wide in surface recognition, and she beckons Liz to come to her. With Bernie and Liz now watching, Olivia knows that her mother, always one for appearances, won't make a move to further embarrass herself, at least not right now.

"Liv, you don't have to go home with her..." Elliot tells her, turning towards her. The fear in his eyes is evident.

But she does. She doesn't have a choice, especially if they're _both_ going to weather the storm that is Serena Benson.

"I've gotta get dressed..."

/

Sand seeps into her shoes as she follows behind her mother, gaze towards the ground. In front of them the sea is silent, the around them thick and dry, and on the horizon rests a few thin clouds. A storm is brewing.

A storm and an explosion in the form of Serena Benson.

"I never wanted this for you...Olivia. I can't believe you. Two days. We leave in two days. Why do you do this to me?" Serena mumbles; her voice sounds strange - far away – distant - as if she's talking more so to herself than Olivia.

"Mom, he didn't..."

"Just shut up." Serena snaps as the two come to a halt, and she pushes Olivia up the stairs. "Just get in the house. Just go."

Clumsily Olivia does as she's told; nearly stepping on her own two feet as she enters the house, Serena close on her heels before heading straight into the kitchen. She hisses at Olivia to shut the door. By the time Olivia pulls the door shut and turns back around, Serena is halfway through a bottle of vodka (not bothering with a glass); pacing and muttering to herself with a vacant expression on her face.

Olivia stays in the living room, back pressed against the door, fingers crossed that this situation won't get any worse, but knows that it will - especially by the way Serena downs the liquor in hand.

When Serena finally pulls the bottle from her lips, her voice is hoarse - raspy, "he assaulted you, Olivia."

Incredulity passes across Olivia's face and she shakes her head furiously, unsure of how to respond. She tries her hand at reasoning, thinking that Serena was young once. Surely before _her_, before what happened, she'd been in love. "Mom, I know what you saw - or thought you saw - but nothing happened that I didn't want. We - I... He didn't assault me. He would - Elliot would never. I love him."

Serena stays silent, fingers tightly gripping the glass bottle in hand.

"We're in love and we made -"

She's not afforded the chance to finish her explanation; she's cut off by the sound of shattering glass.

"That boy raped you, Olivia!" Serena yells, slamming the vodka bottle in hand down so hard that it shatters beneath her palm, glass bits scattering along the bar.

Olivia flinches, watching as blood pools around the shards. She rubs her eyes, sighing in frustration and silently chastising herself for even thinking she could reason with her mother. "He didn't! We had sex, we...we made love!" Frustration seeps out in her voice.

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Serena's head snaps up, slate eyes wide, doe-like, and she shakes her head profusely, breathing heavily. "You're covered in scratches and bruises. So is he. And look at your wrists. I'm calling the police." Blood and all, Serena pushes away from the counter and cross the few paces to the phone sitting on the wall.

"Mom, stop it. Stop. He didn't. I wanted it. I wanted him. Stop!" Olivia shouts, abandoning her post near the front door in haste to make in order to make it to the phone before Serena's able to dial. She stumbles over an empty vodka bottle and kicks it to the side. Her hand reaches for the phone cradle to hang up the call, but Serena's bloody hand grabs her wrist, twisting it.

"I never got my justice, but you're going to get yours." Serena insists and whoever is on the other line must be asking for an address because Serena starts to rattle off the beach house number.

Before she's able to finish the address, however, Olivia rips the phone cord from its base with her free hand.

Shock and disbelief spread across Serena's face as she holds the now dead receiver to her ear.

Blood thumps painfully loud in Olivia's ears and her heart beats erratically, ready to jump through her chest. She knows that she's done it now; created the crack that eventually splinters out and shatters everything.

But she's determined to protect Elliot - even if it means turning all of her mother's rage onto her.

The phone from Serena's grasp, landing on the ground with a hollow thud, and Olivia tries to pull away, twist out of Serena's iron hold.

"He didn't rape me. We had sex. We. Made. Love." Olivia declares defiantly, chin up though fighting hard not to shake. To say she is terrified is an understatement.

The sharp hiss of skin on skin, palm to chin is Serena's only reply, but that doesn't stop Olivia, who again repeats, "We made love."

Another slap, but Olivia's words still do not change. "We made love." The burning in her cheek is painful and anger rises in the pit of her stomach.

"It doesn't matter how many times you hit me. It can't change the fact that he loves me and I love him. _I_ took my clothes off for him. I touched him. I _let_ him touch me..." She continues to confess.

And all hell breaks loose.

Olivia doesn't even realize that she's hit the ground until she feels the wood beneath her head. A painful cry rips from her mother's lips. It's a flurry of slaps and jabs as Olivia raises her arms to protect herself.

There's only been one other time in her life she can recall being beat by her mother - thankful as much as one could be that it wasn't a constant in her situation.

It happened when she was eight years old. A lone friend in the third grade had invited the child pariah over for a sleepover. It was common knowledge amongst most parents that Serena Benson wasn't the most conventional mother. Even more common knowledge that she had an open fear of men around her daughter, including the fathers of fellow classmates, which often meant Olivia was left out of home get together and of course, sleep overs. But somewhere in her vodka addled brain, Serena had said yes to Olivia's request to stay the night at her lone companion's place.

Everything had gone smoothly until a vodka drenched Serena had shown up, ripped Olivia from the house mid-festivities and dragged her home. Angry and unable to comprehend why, Olivia had with as much gusto that an eight year old could muster, declared her hatred for her mother. The tiny eight year old never had a chance; she was shoved into a corner and wailed on repeatedly until Serena faltered in her footing and finally stumbled back. Olivia took that opportunity to make a run for it, flying out of the apartment, into the night. She ran the twelve blocks; bruised, hysterical, and alone in the unforgiving New York City streets to her Grandmother's.

But unlike eight years prior, there is no safe haven for Olivia and Serena's fists are just as unrelenting.

And Olivia isn't a tiny child any more.

Though Serena is still a couple of inches taller than her, Olivia knows she has age and agility on her side at the moment. So she pushes back, shoving her mother as far away from her as she can.

Serena hits the floor with a large thunk, the half of a bottle alcohol she'd downed moments ago working against her. Olivia hurries to her feet, certain that she looks as if she's just gone ten rounds with Joe Frazier. Her shirt's ripped; her hair hangs wildly around her face and she's trying to catch her breath.

But she's not afforded much time to do so. Serena finally makes it to her feet and lunges at Olivia, catching her off guard and by the shoulders.

"You're mine, Olivia. MINE. No one else's. I gave you life. No one loves you but me. Do you hear me?" She screams, vodka dripping from her voice as her hands move dangerously close towards her daughter's neck.

Then Olivia blinks. Everything becoming too much, and the anger boils over. Takes her under a riptide. Every hit, every slap, and every word impedes any rationale Olivia has left and she shoves her mother once more, this time with much more force. "Get off of me!"

She throws her mother into the breakfast bar that splits the room into two and the sickening crack of skull against granite cuts the air. Serena goes down, a gash ripples across her forehead and from it blood drips.

Silence settles in once again and Olivia shivers, a feeling of horror overtakes her. She gasps, closing her eyes to block out the sight of her mother in a crumpled mess in front of her, uselessly hoping and knowing that this isn't a nightmare. But it doesn't work. Reality sets in and only one thought comes to Olivia's mind.

_I killed my mother..._

"Mom...I didn't, I didn't mean to...please. I just wanted you to stop hurting me. Mom. Wake up." Olivia whispers as she collapses to her knees, crawling over to where Serena's body is slumped.

The panic sets in the closer she gets to Serena and she can feel herself crying. Salty tears run down her warm face, stinging her bruised cheeks, salt seeping into faint cuts.

"Wake up, Mom. Please..." She pleads, brushing back a falling strand of greying hair away from Serena's sickly, pale face. She can't tell if her mother's still breathing because she can barely see through her tears; her body trembles in fear, and she shakes from nervous.

_I killed my mother..._

"I didn't mean to...mom wake up," again, she pleads; voice childlike as it cracks under the weight of her tears. "Please," and she finds herself becoming hysterical, unable to prevent the panic, fear, and tears from mixing. Breathing is hard and she just wants her mother to wake up.

Still, though, Serena doesn't stir.

Her mind is so clouded, so gripped by what's happened that she doesn't hear Elliot come in; doesn't hear him call her name; doesn't watch as he flies through the house with a bag over his shoulder, heading for her room. And she hardly looks up through her bleary, tear soaked eyes as he picks her up and carries her out of the house.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: So sorry this for such a long delay, but my mojo has been a fickle thing lately. Between a fickle mojo and the two week flu, plus some other personal drama updating hasn't been easy. I hope you're all still out there with me, though.

Enjoy and hopefully the next update won't be this long in the making.

You can now catch me/follow me on twitter at thepaperframes. Sometimes I talk fic, updating, and life. Plus I take plot bunnies.

Also thanks to Cheertennis for helping me over my writer's block hurdle; she's a true gem.

Please review!

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><p>Chapter 19: Son of a Preacher Man<p>

It all had happened so fast; the arguing, the shouting, the fighting, shove, and sickening crack of bone on marble. It's all a blur. A mangled mess of images that replays, over and over again, seizing – taking hold – of Olivia's thoughts as she shuffles alongside Elliot. Her hand hangs loosely in his as they walk up the road. She doesn't know where they're going, and she doesn't ask either. She's all but one step away from a catatonic state; Elliot's essentially dragging her, mumbling along the way.

It's midday and the air is thick with the promise of storms. As they pass stragglers along the road, the audible gasps, no doubt at her appearance, barely register in Olivia's thoughts. Only one thought, one deafening thought, weighs on her consciousness; _I killed my mother_. _I killed her._

The crack, the sound of bone against marble, ricochets once more, Olivia's hand slips from Elliot's and she stops. The sun catches her vacant gaze and her heart drops.

_I killed my mother._

"Olivia, come on. We've got to go." Elliot whispers, fingers dancing along her elbow and he beckons for her to follow him. "Come on, baby…"

"But I…I…she needs helps. I need to help her, El. I need to do something." Hysteria inches its way back into Olivia's voice and she turns her body from Elliot, eyes bleary with tears; she doesn't remember the direction they came from, but she wants to go back; turn around and help her mother.

"You can't, Liv. Come on. This way…" He pulls a little more forcefully on her elbow, yanking her against him. "Liv…come on."

"But my mom. I can't leave her!" Olivia hisses, wiggling from his grasp and managing to take two steps forward before Elliot's arm wraps around her waist and he's lifting her off the ground, dragging her back in the other direction.

"Stop, Elliot. I need to go back!" She struggles against him until she feels her feet hit the ground. Frustration and anger radiate from every inch of her body and she pulls at Elliot's arm that still rests around her waist. He doesn't budge and their ruckus causes a couple of people to stop in curiosity.

"Liv, you've gotta calm down. You've gotta stop, please…"

"Is everything okay here?" A small white haired woman, probably in her sixties asks, approaching the duo.

"We're fine, ma'am…" Elliot states, but the woman doesn't take his reply for an answer. Instead she focuses in on Olivia.

"Are you sure you're okay, hon?"

Olivia fights the urge to scream, to cry out a loud _no, I'm not okay. I just killed my mother_.

"I'm okay, ma'am…" she squeaks, voice sounding strange, far away as she forces her vocal cords to remain level, steady.

"You sure, you don't look too good…"

"I'm…I'm … just…I'm fine. I promise." Olivia insists, attempting to straighten up as her head involuntarily lolls forward and she grips Elliot's arm that is around her waist. As she grips his skin, she catches a glimpse of her own hands. Her fingernails are black, and there's a drying, sticky substance smeared all over her hands. It's blood. Serena's blood.

The world spins and the air is too stagnant, too thick. It's all too much. She feels sticky, hot, as if she's suffocating. She feels like she's going to throw up.

"Are you sure?"

"We're sure…." Elliot cuts in, and with Olivia in tow; he starts to back away, back towards their destination. "Have a good day now."

The two set off back in the direction Elliot had originally been leading them in. Blindly Olivia stumbles along, the sun beating down on her. Suddenly she's acutely aware of the sticky feeling, the blood on her hands, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Images of her mother crumpled in a ball, bleeding and pale bombard her thoughts like a private film playing on the inside of her eyelids.

She is going to throw up.

"Elliot, I'm –" She doesn't get the chance to finish her sentence, instead she hunches over. What little is in her stomach makes its acquaintance with the hot concrete and the tears are instant. Every inch of her being is on fire and she's trembling; with fear, with disgust, she shakes, knees buckling. Bile seeps down her tank top and she knows she's accidentally thrown up on him, too.

"I killed her Elliot…" Olivia cries, mouth like chalk. "I killed her…I did. I killed…"

"You can't say things like that out loud, Liv." Elliot tells her, there's a slight edge to his voice and somehow he's managed to keep a hold on her. He pulls her to her feet, and mumbles into her hair. "Everything's going to be okay, Liv. I promise you that. You just gotta trust me. I'm gonna take care of it, I'm gonna take care of you."

"But, El. . . ."

"Come on, Liv. We're almost to my car. It's gonna be okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

/

Gravel crunches beneath the tires of Elliot's station wagon as they pull into the driveway of a gray siding and red brick cottage surrounded on all sides by shrubbery and Rose bushes; a few stacked lawn chairs and a glass table seat beneath the awning that rests over the entryway into the house.

They're about twenty, twenty-five minutes or so across town, exactly where, remains a mystery.

Olivia sits in the passenger's seat, head pressed against the cool glass of the window, eyes vacant as a few lone tears slip from the corners of her eyes. Above her, a storm brews, and stray droplets of rain pit patter along the roof of the car.

Elliot gets out first with the black duffle bag in hand and disappears through the side door, where the lawn furniture rests. Moments later he returns, shirt dotted with rain and perhaps sweat. He taps on the window of the station wagon, and Olivia knows he's trying to get her attention – but she doesn't acknowledge him. She just remains, eyes blank, sticky and sweat covered, seated.

"Come on, Liv, please." He doesn't give her a chance to answer; instead he opens the door and unbuckles her, pulling her out of the car and to her feet. "Do I have to carry you again?"

Silently she shakes her head no, crossing her arms over her stomach. Her bottom lip trembles. The fault lines inside her are fracturing, again, and the tears that build behind her eyes threatening to spill over once more.

She forces her feet to move forward and Elliot's hand comes to rest at the small of her back, guiding her into the house. She's thankful that there's no stairs for her to climb because it's taking everything in her to not collapse and crumble with the few steps she's taking across somewhat flat land.

Together they pass through the aluminum screen door that shuts with a hollow bang behind them. The house opens to a plainly furnished living room, with a faux fireplace resting as the focal point in the room. Past the living room sits what appears to be the dining room, and in the back is the kitchen. A hallway peaks off the side of the dining room, and with the hand on her back, Elliot guides her towards the hall and into a tiny bathroom, turning on the light.

Outside, sporadic rain droplets turn to a full-blown rain that beats against the small window that rests on the bathroom wall opposite the doorway.

"You want to get cleaned up while I go make a call?"

Olivia nods her head, suddenly acutely aware that she's a sight for sore eyes. Bile stained ripped tank top, disheveled hair, and bruised face.

"I'll be right back." He whispers, shutting the bathroom door behind him as he goes.

She kicks off her slip-ons and starts to unbutton her jean shorts, hands shaking, when she catches sight of her reflection in the mirror. It's worse than she'd originally imagined. There's a bruise resting underneath her right eye that darkens as she stares at her reflection, her lip is split, and her hair is everywhere. The long dark tendrils cascade in knots down her shoulders and her once white top is littered with all the markings of her morning. It's ripped at the shoulder, too, slipping down to reveal the top of her bra. No wonder why people had stopped to stare at her earlier.

"What have you done, Olivia?" She questions her reflection, fingers reaching up to untangle her matted hair when she catches sight of her hands again. The dried blood is still there.

Furiously she turns on the bathroom sink, hot water only, and begins pulling at her skin. The sink fills with a murky pinkish brown color and she finds herself crying again. Steam floods the room.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I didn't. I didn't mean to…" Olivia mumbles through salty tears that sink into her lips; over and over again she scratches at her reddened skin. Hysteria setting in as the blood just darkens, the stain sticking, and she makes the mistake of closing her eyes. The images flood back once more.

Shoving, pushing, the fall, the crack, and the blood.

A soft, almost inaudible knock sounds on the wood of the bathroom door that causes Olivia to jump. Snot drips down her nose and she can't breathe. So bleary eyed and out of it, she sits down on top of the closed toilet lid.

"You okay, Liv?"

She doesn't answer. He knocks again. "Liv, I'm coming in…."

The bathroom door opens and in rushes Elliot, turning off the sink as the steam waifs through the open door. He immediately falls to his knees, his fingers brushing over the damage she's done to her hands.

"Liv, baby."

"I didn't mean to hurt her. I didn't want to. She just kept hitting me. Over and over again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, Liv…look, stop. Stop. Just stop. Come on. Let's get you into a warm shower and…" his words trail off, but whether he stops talking or not Olivia doesn't know. His voice comes to her through a dense fog. She hears the bathroom faucet running; feels his hands on her hips as he guides her to her feet.

Mindlessly she follows Elliot's hazy, muffled instructions to lift her arms, and he helps her pull off her tank top, tossing it to the side. Next comes her shorts and she feels something akin to a rag doll as he undresses her, and piles her clothes in a heap.

And though he's seen every inch of her before, that still doesn't stop the shiver that creeps up her spine as his thumbs brush over her hip bones and he nudges her in the direction of the tub. Slowly she slips one foot in and then another, the lump in her throat tightening as silent tears slip down her cheekbones.

The water is warm and rises up the sides as she settles down, bringing her knees to her chest, hugging them.

"Everything is gonna be alright." Elliot whispers, bending down next to the tub, washcloth hanging from his fingers. Olivia watches as he dips the cloth into the water and softly runs it up her bare back, the excess water rolling down her shoulders; she shivers at the gesture.

"You hear me, Liv?"

Again, she doesn't answer; instead she closes her eyes, chin hooked over her knees, and cries.

/

Save for the dissonant ping pang of rain on the roof, the low rumbling thunder in the distance, and her soft breaths, the room is silent.

Olivia sits on the edge of a bed, in the bedroom of a stranger. Her damp hair sticks to her face and neck, dripping down the front of the oversized T-shirt that she supposes belongs to Elliot and hangs loosely from her body.

Her eyes trail to the open doorway and then float around the room. The bed is queen size, and takes up the majority of the open floor space, sitting in between two windows. On the right side of the bed sits a nightstand complete with a pale purple lamp shade resting on its stand. On the pale yellow walls are a few scattered pictures; one of a mixed race couple and their little girl whose face Olivia's certain she's seen before. Next to that picture is a framed picture of small hand prints, and she assumes that they belong to the little girl in the photo next to it.

Finally her eyes drop down to the bedspread and it's a sea foam green, decorated with white and pink seashells. It's soft underneath her tender flesh and she mindlessly brings a finger out to trace the various shell patterns.

Vaguely she thinks of the first two days she'd spent at the beach house with her mother; things had been so at ease and comforting. As she'd promised, Serena had barely drank anything and the mother and daughter pair had spent a glorious morning collecting seashells by the shore. They'd even taken a Polaroid together to commemorate the moment.

"Liv," Elliot's voice dances into her thoughts, and she looks up. He's standing in the doorway, his blue eyes brimming with worry and Olivia knows she's the cause for his concern. "I made some tea and I can make you something to eat if you're hungry?" And even though he tries his hardest to hide the perturbation in his voice, it still waivers. The confident cocky boy she's fallen in love with has been replaced by someone whose anxiety is running high all because of her.

"I'm okay. I don't…" the words are trapped in her throat. "I just...I don't need anything. I just want you to lay with me until…" Her words break off because she isn't sure what until is. Until reality sets in? Until she can speak without crying? Until the images are out of her head? Until….

The tears come flooding back and she finds herself curling up in a ball on the corner of a bed in a house that belongs to someone she doesn't know. Her hands are tucked beneath her chin and she shivers.

She squeezes her eyelids tightly, and the sound of Elliot's heavy footsteps against the wood floor mingle with the rain and thunder. The bed dips as he crawls in next to her, pulling her away from the edge and towards him until her back is against his chest.

"I love you, Liv. I promise, it's all going to be okay. We're okay. I've got you."

Together, they drift off to dreamland, Olivia's soft sobs mixing with the raging storm.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Uhm...hi? Don't kill me, please? I apologize for the lengthy wait and I hope you're still out there reading and interested. Things have been hectic for me, plus i've had the worst case of writer's block. Literally the worst. I've rewritten this chapter, deleted it. Cried over it. Wanted to stab it... it's just been a time with it.

I hope you enjoy, nonetheless.

* * *

><p><em>She's safe here. Wherever here is.<em>

_It's safe here, at this moment because she's not alone. She's tucked into Elliot's arms as his fingers dance down her bare side. In her ear he softly hums the words to Jack & Diane._

_Olivia giggles as his fingers skit across her abdomen, causing her to wiggle in his embrace, her legs kicking out playfully. She turns in his arms so they're face to face; brown eyes bright._

_"Who knew you were a humming bird?" She whispers, the corners of her mouth curl into an uninhibited grin. A genuine smile that stretches across her face and down to her soul. Genuine smiles are commonplace in his presence; the faint ache in her cheeks from smiling so wide is welcomed._

_Elliot returns her smile with one of his own before dipping his head to press his lips to her neck. He gently sucks on her already heat slick skin, his hands finding her hips and gripping them tight. He brings her close, parting her legs with an over sized thigh._

_She knows what he's getting at with his not so subtle hints, and she's more than willing to oblige. Slowly, but surely, she starts to reciprocate. Her head tilts back to grant him better access to her neck and her left leg hitches over his right hip. This is a still so new to her. The sensations, the touching, but she enjoys it. She likes getting lost in him; lost in how he makes her feel._

_As if she can fly if she so chooses. As if she's made of magic and not malice._

_"Liv, I love you..." he whispers into her ear, dragging his mouth up her throat before coming to hover above her lips, poised for a chaste kiss._

_The blush creeps up her neck, her cheeks turning red. She wraps her arms around Elliot's neck. "Ditto..."_

_They're kissing and touching; soft and slow sensual caresses. Elliot's hands are slipping between her thighs teasingly when the door to the room of a house that belongs to people she doesn't know, bursts open._

_Serena appears in the doorway, red eyed and her chignon unraveling. The sulfurous stench of vodka follows behind her._

_Olivia immediately freezes, her body tensing beneath Elliot's. Hurriedly she sits up, pushing him away and grabbing the thin sheet tangled around her waist, bringing it to her body. This is bad - even worse than the other day when they'd been caught post-coitus. Serena's imagination didn't have to fill in the blanks here, it's obvious as to what they were doing._

_"Mom, I can explain…" what she's going to explain, she doesn't know. It's not like she can quite say that this dalliance isn't exactly that. She's been caught - literally - with her pants down._

_But Serena says nothing, she strolls into the room, an alcohol induced sway in her steps, and plops down onto the foot of the bed. She glances expectantly at her daughter, pursing her lips and shaking her head disappointingly._

_Serena's reaction - or rather lack thereof - throws Olivia for a loop._

_This isn't the unadulterated rage and anger Olivia's expected, but a strange serene calm dwarfed in vodka. She'd almost much rather have the explosive anger than this. At least with anger she knows how to react._

_"Mom we…"_

_"We?" Serena asks, her head swivels from side to side as she takes in the room's occupancy._

_Olivia does the same, turning to her left hand side to see that Elliot's vanished. She doesn't even remember him leaving. Sheet clutched to her chest, she calls out, "El?"_

_Shrill, humorless laughter rips from Serena's throat. Her thin body shakes, shoulders slumping forward and she laughs as if she's never heard anything funnier in her entire 40 years. When she finally catches her breath, slapping her thigh with a dainty hand, she speaks, "He's gone. Are you surprised?"_

_Yes._

_But that's not what she says. She doesn't say anything, too uncertain and terrified to walk the minefield that is her mother. Her fingers curl into the thin sheet and she shrinks back, pressing her shoulders into the headboard._

_"Or are you still under the impression that he loves you? So naïve."_

_Olivia bristles, a defensiveness combating her sense of self preservation. Elliot did love her. He did. He told her he did. More than once. So it had to be true. "That's not - he does love me. He -"_

_Serena cuts her off, the corners of her mouth curling into a devious smile. "He is gone, Olivia. Look around. He left you. Left with his dick still wet. You're barely in a bra and already have men unhooking it. I knew you were going to be a slut."_

_A slap in the mouth or a kick in the teeth would have hurt less. Olivia's stomach lurches forward, the contents inside it threatening to spill at her mother's brutal vulgarity and ability to sour the one thing Olivia feels she has to hold onto at the moment: Elliot's love._

_"Stop." She pleads, fighting to push back the tears that prick her eyelids, causing them to burn. "Please stop. He's not like that. I'm not like that."_

_"All men are like that, Olivia. ALL men. They take whatever they want. Like your father did. He took what he wanted from me and left me you. You're just like him." Serena snickers menacingly, head bobbing from side to side in a disapproving manner._

_"I'm not."_

_You're just like him. _

_"I'm not."_

_You're just like him. _

_"I'm not."_

_Olivia clasps her hands over her ears, her heart twisting as she brings her knees to her chest. She has to bite her cheek to keep the sob lodged in her throat from escaping. Olivia feared nothing more than becoming like her father, the rapist; the unknown demon that haunted her every waking moment; ominously controlling her life._

_"You are. You're just like him. Like father, like daughter." Serena deadpans, eyes blazing with malice._

_Hot tears spring to Olivia's eyes, and she turns her head away, hands balling into fists. "Stop it, mom."_

_"You know, Olivia, that night he - your father - raped me, I laid on the cement wishing he'd kill me. I wanted him to stick the knife he had in his hand into my throat. I remember how I thought that if he just did it, if he just stuck the knife in I'd never have to tell anyone. But he didn't kill me. No. He gave me you . . . and you finished the job." Serena's fingers trail up to the congealed blood that rests at the apex of her widow's peak. "Look at me, Olivia. Look what you did. Look what he started and you finished!"_

_But Olivia can't look, she refuses to; instead she keeps her eyes tightly shut. Her bottom lip trembles, and she forces her hands harder against her ears._

_"You killed me, Olivia. For what? A boy who will never love you. Never care about you. Not like me. I am your mother. DAMN IT, OLIVIA, I SAID LOOK AT ME. LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"_

_Olivia still can't look. At least not until Serena's bony digits reach out, seizing Olivia's chin and hard, nails digging into her daughter's flesh. The smell of vodka and rusting iron waifs from her and Olivia tries her hardest to pull out of her mother's grasp._

_"Look at me, Olivia. You want to take your clothes off and act like a woman in that way, you can at least look at what you've done. Look at the blood on your hands - look at me. LOOK AT ME, OLIVIA. LOOK!"_

_No matter how much she jerks her head, no matter how hard she tries to pull out of her mother's ironclad grasp, she cannot free herself from Serena's hold._

"LOOK, OLIVIA. LOOK, OLIVIA. OLIVIA, OLIVIA, OLIVIA!"

She's sputtering and coughing; choking on her own tears, hands over her ears when Elliot shakes her awake. He's seated next to her on the oversized bed, fear marring his features, his thick brows sandwiched together in the middle of his face.

"Liv, hey, Liv." He whispers gently, the normal timber and brass replaced with softness and worry. "It's okay. It was just a dream. A bad dream, baby."

A bad dream, the words echo in Olivia's head as she fights to find footing in reality. She can still feel her mother's nails digging into her chin, hear her mother's venomous, and hate filled words. It's all too vivid and too fresh in her mind.

"Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You can do it…"

Olivia nods, sobs slowly subsiding. Serena's words start to fade and she opens her eyes, one at a time.

_Everything's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It'sokayIt'sokayit'skay._

Red and yellow spots dance in front of her eyes and Elliot's face comes into focus. Hesitantly he reaches up to brush her frizzy brown tresses from her face, tucking the flyaway hair behind her ears.

"You okay there?" He questions, blue eyes on edge, searching her face for an answer.

Olivia's chest falls and rises, heart leaden, eyes fearful. The dream had been far too vivid, too real, and haunting.

Elliot's lips press to her temple in a chaste kiss, sending chills creeping down her spine. The sweet gesture plays in stark contrast to the cruelty of dream Serena. Olivia breathes in, her bottom lip quivering. "She was here, El. Yelling at me. Saying these things. These awful things -" she stops, recalling the vicious taunts her subconscious had conjured up in her mother's voice.

_You're just like him. I knew you were going to be a slut. Like father, like daughter. He gave me you . . . and you finished the job._

_Like father, like daughter. Like father, like daughter. Likefatherlikedaughter._

Remembering her mother's words causes a sudden and dizzying bout of nausea to overtake Olivia. She kicks off the seashell patterned bedspread, clamoring to her feet and out of Elliot's arms, running full speed for the bathroom. The ground beneath her feet lurches forward, the room spinning as she barely makes it down the hall and to the bathroom. She slams the door shut, not cognizant to the fact that Elliot is hot on her heels and she's just slammed the door in his face. Falling to her knees, Olivia grips the porcelain bowl with shaky fingers and what little resides in her stomach retches up with vengeance. Her throat and lips burn as the bile acid spills from her mouth.

_You're just like him. Like him. Your father. You're him, Olivia. You hurt people. You hurt your mom. All she did was love you and you hurt her._

Her stomach lurches forward and she heaves, again and again, creating a sickening rhythm; a beat to which the words in her head are recited to.

_You're_ - heave - _just_ - heave - _like_ - heave - _him._ _You_ - heave - _hurt_ - heave- _people_ - heave. _You_ - heave - _hurt_ - heave -_ your_ - heave- _mom_ - heave.

This continues until she's all but gasping at air, her throat jerking violently as nothing but yellowish liquid and saliva falls from her lips. Her stomach violently quivers and her head throbs.

A soft knock followed by a muffled "Olivia..." comes from the other side of the door. It's Elliot.

Olivia falls to her bottom, using her shaky hands to keep her propped up. She can hear the worry in his voice and knows that on the other side of the door his terrified for her. And she hates herself for getting him involved in the disaster that is her life.

"I'm fine, El. I'm okay…"

"Like hell you are. I'm coming in, Liv."

"NO! Don't." She shouts, listening as the door handle turns. Her voice is high pitched and panicked. Even though she's thrown up on him, bathed in front of him, and made love to him - she doesn't want him to see her like this. Especially since she's yet to take inventory of her own body and injuries. She scrambles to the door, fingers grasping the chamber lock, but not turning it.

She doesn't want to shut him out, but will if he insists.

"Please, Liv…"

Forehead pressed to the wood, Olivia stifles the quiet sobs threatening to rip loose from her lips. She forces the waiver from her voice before responding. "No, I'll be out in a minute. Please, just - just leave me alone right now."

Olivia awaits his protests, his insistence and innate over-protectiveness, but is instead greeted by the sound of his retreating footsteps.

/

Almost a half hour passes by before Olivia manages to make it to her feet. Unsteady still. Her thoughts are cloudy, filled with a chaotic amalgamation of images and sounds; her own screams, bone against granite, blood under her finger nails, and wailing sobs.

She flushes the toilet and slowly makes her way to the sink, fearful of what she will find. Yesterday her wounds had been brand new, bright, and fresh; not yet settled and indented into her skin; not yet finding purchase with the rest of the reminders of her mother's cruelty.

Today, she knows, will be a different story. Reds will have turned to deep purples, scratches will have started to scab over, and hopefully the gash in her lip wasn't as bad as it had been the day prior.

She doesn't look at her reflection immediately as she comes to stand in front of the sink. Instead she sets to work washing her hands. The blood - Serena's blood - is long gone, but she can still feel it. Under her nail, caked to her skin. It's there. Furiously she scrubs, just as she'd done the night before. Once satisfied, she leans forward, rinsing out her mouth that tastes like she's been eating sand. The acid still clings to her taste buds and, although she knows it's wrong, she finds herself - eyes closed - pulling open the mirror that hides the medicine cabinet. She needs something stronger than water to get rid of the taste that clings to her mouth.

She runs on autopilot, mind blank, as she spots the tube of Colgate and goes to work. Her left index finger serves as a makeshift toothbrush.

Then she sets to work on washing her face - busying herself with anything and everything that will prolong the inevitable grimace that's sure to cross her face once she looks into the mirror.

The warm water and soft soap stings as she hunches over the sink. Beneath her fingers her flesh is sore, aggravated, and bruised. She winces at a particularly painful spot, just below her right eye before accepting her fate. With a deep breath in, she turns off the water and stands tall.

Her eyes meet her reflection and she almost crumbles to the ground. The bruise beneath her right eye has ballooned across her cheek, in both directions. It's a sickly deep purple, puffy and swollen. There's also a bruise forming across her chin, courtesy - no doubt - of one of her mother's many rings. Her top lip is split, just to the left of her philtrum. All in all, she looks like hell. And that's not even counting the countless scratches on her arms and her legs - or the fingerprint shaped bruises that litter her bare thighs, peeking out from beneath the hem of Elliot's shirt.

She tears her eyes away from the mirror, no longer able to stare at her own reflection; proof of her stroll through hell the day prior. A day she wishes was a blur - a regretful nightmare she has the misfortune of remembering all too vividly.

"Please tell me you didn't fuck in my parents' bedroom."

It's the first thing Olivia hears when she finally gathers enough courage leave the sanctuary of the bathroom. She's cleaned up as much as she could, and even put on a pair of shorts Elliot had (unbeknownst to her at the time) retrieved from her bedroom at the beach house. She almost feels somewhat human again, though she direly wishes for her mostly barren makeup bag.

The voice speaking is a familiar one - one that she's heard before, and then it dawns on her. She thinks back to the framed picture of the mixed race couple on the wall in the bedroom she'd slept in; Monique.

"Jesus fucking Christ, is that all you think about?" Elliot retorts, and the words cause a slight smile to crinkle across Olivia's face. The floor creaks beneath her feet and she stands with her back pressed against the hallway wall, listening.

"Look, I don't know what kind of Romeo and Juliet stuff you two have going on other than what's making its way through the grapevine. I'd just rather not have to explain to my parents when they get here next month why their sheets are stained."

Olivia wrinkles her nose at the crude image, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"What the hell. For the love of - you know me better than that, Monique. You know I wouldn't..."

"I thought I did until Old lady Sampson started screaming that you'd kidnapped a girl yesterday to anyone who'd listen. What even happened yesterday? Apparently you dragged her – I'm guessing Olivia – down the street, kicking and screaming? Which was probably about twenty or so minutes before the ambulance arrived. What in the hell…"

An ambulance? Olivia cranes her neck to listen closer, her ears perking up. An ambulance showing up meant that maybe, just maybe, she hadn't done the unspeakable. That Serena wasn't, wasn't...but she has little time to revel in her knew found information. Her mind immediately rockets back around to the kidnapping accusation.

Kidnapped?

"Old lady Sampson can mind her business, I didn't -"

"I know – believe me I know. I don't know what you did to that girl, but she's like in love with you. Yuck by the way."

"Thanks, Niq. Glad to know I'm so unlovable."

"Eh, not that much, but sorry to say when I look at you, I still think about the boy who stuffed his pants full of worms and ate grass."

Olivia smiles at Monique's confession, a sharp tug lulling in the bottom of her stomach at the thought that these two had been friends for so long. She'd never had friends like that. Serena never let her get that close to anyone, ever.

"Look, worms or not," Elliot continues and Olivia knows he's rolling his eyes. "I just want to protect her. She acts tough, but she's not. Yesterday probably wasn't the first time her mom beat the shit out of her. Olivia told me that her mom hits her, but I didn't think it was…it was like this. I mean, when Joe hits me, I hit him back."

Tears swell in Olivia's eyes, but she refuses to let them slip down her cheeks. She thinks of that night, a few weeks back, when Elliot had snuck into her room; bruised and bloodied from an altercation with Joe.

"Well, it looks like she hit her mom back, too…"

"Look, I don't know what happened. I had to settle my mom down when she got back from your aunt's and by the time I got down to Olivia's, she was sitting on the floor crying. That bitch of a mother of hers was passed out on the floor; there was blood coming from somewhere and I panicked. I got her out of there before something else could happen…"

"So kinda did kidnap her?"

"No, stop. I…look, I'm just glad the fucking bitch isn't dead okay? If…"

Twice now he's called her mother a bitch and although Olivia knows that he's right, it still grates her nerves. Serena might be been a bitch, but she is still her mother. Her feet have a mind of their own as Olivia finds herself being propelled down the hall way, and into the living room.

She finds Elliot sitting in the over sized rocking chair, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks tired and she knows she's to blame for the extra age that's seemed to set into his face in the last month. Across from him on the couch sits Monique, her brown curls piled on top of her hair and her legs folded underneath her. Her mouth drops open at the sight of Olivia, who flinches slightly at the other girl's reaction.

It causes her to stop in her tracks for a moment, leaving her hyper aware of the fact that she looks like something out of the Evil Dead. She forgets why she's emerged from the seclusion of a stranger's bathroom and suddenly wants to retreat for dear life.

"Liv," Elliot says softly. He's looking at her with those piercing blue eyes and she juts her bottom lip out. "You hungry, I can make you something to eat, I - "

"Don't call her that!" The words finally fall out of Olivia's mouth in clumps, clamoring into the open air with a thud as she zeros her attention in on Elliot.

"Call who what?" Elliot asks, his thick brows burrowing together in the middle of his forehead.

"My mom. She's not. She's not a bitch. She's my mom!" Olivia grows defensively, knowing that Elliot was right about the title he'd adorned her mother with, but at the same time feeling a protective surge propel her forward. Serena is damn near the only family she had.

The room goes silent for a few minutes, none of its three occupants speaking. Olivia stays standing in the middle of the room and she keeps her gaze pointed in Elliot's general direction.

Monique breaks the silence first. Olivia watches as she gets to her feet, straightening her tank top as she does.

"Well, I've got a few things I've got to grab from the store, so I'll leave you two to…" the words fade from her lips and she throws a somber smile in Olivia's direction. "I'll bring you guys back dinner later." Monique says as she heads towards the side door, but stops before she exits. "Olivia..."she pauses, as if thinking her words through. "El's not gonna let anything happen to you." And then she's gone, the aluminum door banging closed behind her.

Elliot gets to his feet, and Olivia shuffles on hers – torn between wanting to yell at him and launch herself into his arms.

"Don't call my mother a bitch." She grates out, choosing words instead of blind, misguided fury.

"Liv…"

"No, don't. You don't know what she's gone through to raise me! To take care of me when I'm the worst thing that's ever happen to her. You don't get to judge her. You don't!" She says with far more anger than she intends.

But Elliot doesn't get angry, he doesn't yell back. He slowly approaches her, his fingers wrapping around her wrists as he guides her into his arms.

Olivia lets him, her stomach trying not to do somersaults as his touch.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have said that, okay. And you're not the worst thing to happen to her…"

She doesn't believe him, not in the slightest; she IS the worst thing that's ever happen to her Serena. Nonetheless, Olivia still finds herself crumbling into his embrace.


	21. Chapter 21

AN: At least it wasn't two months this time? Sorry. Also, sorry for the shortness, too. The next chapter will be twice as long. Lot of things are occuring.

Myshka is little mouse in Russian.

In the words of Rufus Scrimgeour "These are dark times, there is no denying"

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><p>Chapter 21: The Beginning of the End<p>

Streaks of orangish-red light bleed through the blinds, basking the living room in a warm glow and signaling dusk. In the far distance, the sounds of waves beating back the shore sound. The air is still around the small beach cottage, and inside the house the air is warm; close to stifling with no sea breeze to shake the humidity.

That doesn't stop Olivia, though, because she stays locked in Elliot's embrace, landlocked by his large body and the back of the couch. They haven't moved, save for a trip to the bathroom every now and then, in hours. Nor have the exchanged many words. Olivia's head is tucked underneath Elliot's chin, one of her thighs sandwiched between his legs, and her arms wrapped around his middle. Their proximity - or rather lack of - possess the possibility to give them both heat stroke, but it doesn't. Instead Olivia finds comfort in his frame, intermittently crying into the thin material of his tank top as he rubs small circles along her back. Neither of them dare break the silence, the comfort of the bubble that's engulfed them ever since Monique walked out the front door and Olivia had promptly fallen to pieces once more.

For the thousandth time that day, Elliot's lips press against Olivia's temple. Unlike the time's before, Olivia looks up. Her dark eyes are clouded with tears and she sucks in a break. She knows what she wants to ask, knows what she needs to ask, but a part of her is scared shitless. So many things are swirling around inside her head. There's the rumor running through the grapevine that Elliot had kidnapped her, apparently, there's the harsh sting of Elliot's earlier comments, and then there's the news that her mother's alive. She didn't kill her.

"Is something wrong?" Elliot asks as he takes notice of Olivia staring at him. He looks uncomfortable, sweat beads building along his brow. Olivia's eyes drop down to his chest and she notices that he's just about drenched in sweat everywhere. She knew she'd been suffocating him, but hadn't quite realized the severity.

"Oh my god, El, lemme go. You're hot...I'm...let me go." She tells him, attempting to wiggle from his embrace. She lets go of his shirt and tries to pull out of his embrace, but he won't let her go.

"Hey, it's fine. I'm fine, just relax…"

"You're gonna die of heat stroke jackass, let me get up!" She fixes him with her most threatening glare- a warning to let her go - her arms serving as a boundary between them. They stare at each for a few moments, Olivia's eyes narrowing in challenge when Elliot's mouth curls into a smile. His arms go slack around her and he starts laughing. Her lips tremble, the laughter builds in the pit of her stomach.

"El-liot...damn it…" she wriggles once more when it hits. The laughter comes in waves. Her shoulders shake and her head droops down to rest against his chest.

She doesn't know why she's laughing; there isn't anything to laugh about, but the humor he finds in whatever just happened is contagious. He doesn't laugh often, which Olivia thinks is shameful because the sound is music to her ears.

It takes them a few minutes to finally settle down, her shoulders still shaking from the sound and his body still vibrating with a few leftover chuckles, before they both go silent. Elliot sinks against the back of the couch and Olivia sits up; her back to him.

"Hey," he whispers, his hand on her lower back, his fingers trailing through the ends of her hair. "I was comfortable…"

Of course he'd say something like that to make her feel better, she thinks. He was one degree away from passing out, but to him it didn't matter, what'd mattered to him was the comfort she'd found in their embrace. God he was too much for her; too caring, too kind, too selfless. He'd uprooted his life the day prior to drag her off to whatever semblance of safety this was when he had other priorities.

"You were 900 degrees…"

He shrugs nonchalantly, his fingers trailing up her clothed spine before ghosting down her elbow and pulling her towards him. "No, I was comfortable."

She rolls her eyes, shrugging out his grip and standing up. "I'll go make you a glass of ice water or something, okay?"

"Liv, what's wrong?"

The look on her face must say everything and nothing at all because he gets to his feet. "Besides the obvious, baby, what's the matter?"

"Everything is. I really hurt my mom and I don't even know what's going on with her right now because i'm a coward. I'm hiding here with you instead of owning up to what I did. She's probably scared and worried about me…"

Elliot chortles, his hand working along his jaw and he pulls at the sweat drenched tank top. He's doesn't believe her, Olivia can tell by the look of incredulity that covers his face when she looks up at him through her lashes.

"She is! She does, she cares about Elliot, she does and I don't even know where she's at…"

"She's probably at the medical center up near Surf City, I called an ambulance yesterday, that's the nearest ER to us…"

Olivia's brows knot together, eyes narrowing before she turns on him, shoving at his chest. His steps falter, but he catches his balance before running into anything or hitting the floor.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She yells, a pique of irrational anger building in her gut.

_He'd called an ambulance; he's cleaning up my mess. This isn't fair to him. He shouldn't care this much about me. You're a making his life harder than it has to be. _

"When was I supposed to, Liv?" He asks, no anger or hurt in his voice even though she'd just shoved and yelled at him. "You spent all day yesterday in bed, crying. And all day today on the couch sleeping n' crying….I can't stand your mother, but I know what...you love her. Why, I don't know, but you do and i'm not gonna let her die."

"Then take me to her, please. I just, I need to see she's okay on my own and then after that, I - I don't know what I'm going to do, but I just need to know she's okay."

"You can't call?" Elliot questions softly, one of his oversized hands reach for her wrist, pulling her towards him. "I just, you - she beat the shit out of you, Olivia. She needs to be in jail."

"It wasn't her fault…" She whispers, eyes falling to the wood floors; she traces the water warp marks with her bare toes. "It was mine. I - I provoked her and I shouldn't have. She doesn't hit me all the time; she's got a problem, and I just make it worse…" _I always make it worse. _

His next movements scare her. He drops her wrist and grabs her face between her hands, cradling her chin between his palms. "Look at me, look...people who love you - they don't hit you. They don't. I don't care what's wrong with them. They don't smash holes in walls or use your face for a punching bag, okay? So i'll take you to see her, but after that, we're going to figure out ... We're gonna get you away from her. I've got a friend in law school, she can figure out what we can do. "

"I can't leave her. She needs me..."

"Look, Liv. I've got you, okay. You _can _leave her before she hurts you. " He tells her, his gaze piercing, intense as he waits for her acknowledgement. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, you just gotta let me take care of you..."

She can feel the tears forming behind her eyes, the sob rises from her gut, and her bottom lip tremble. But she forces it down, away. She doesn't want to cry any more.

Two lone tears slip from her eyes, roll down her cheeks and she swallows, nodding. "Okay, okay..."

/

The entire car ride to the hospital is like the rollercoaster ride from hell. She feels sick and her stomach does somersaults. Between her ears her head pounds, the pain radiates from right above her eyes down to the back of her neck. She's too hot and too cold all at once even though it's an uncharacteristically cool early August day. Dark clouds hang low in the sky, heavy with the promise of rain.

It's been almost a month since she'd packed up her things and loaded them into the back of her mother's car, preparing herself for a boring, dull, and lonely vacation away from Manhattan. But what she'd been gifted had been so much more.

She'd fallen head over heels in love. The boy in the seat next to her with his close cropped dark hair and electric blue eyes stole her heart.

They pull into the hospital parking lot and a guard ushers them toward a parking spot. Elliot pulls in with ease, and cuts the engine.

Olivia's eyes stay glued to stone wall in front of her, her mind swirling with what if's. A foreboding feeling twists her gut. She doesn't know what to expect; what she should expect. Last time she'd seen her mother, Serena had been in a crumpled bloody ball on the floor of a beach house they were set to vacate in two days. A shiver dances up her spine and she has to fight now to pull her knees to her chest and sink into the car's seat.

"You don't have to do this, Liv." Elliot's voice sounds and she breaks eye contact with the wall, turning towards him. "We can go back and you can just call. We still have a lot of stuff we need to figure out."

They did. The prior night, after Elliot's promise to take care of her, they'd been interrupted by a dinner wielding Monique. Not only did she bring dinner, as promised, but made certain to stay long enough to ensure that - in her words - Olivia's virtue remained intact. Sex had been the farthest thing from Olivia's mind, though she'd been more than grateful for Monique's presence. The focus on her sex life hadn't been appreciated, but the makeup bag and normalcy of proverbial girl talk had.

"I do," Olivia tells him; her tone one of resignation. She pulls down the passenger side visor and stares into the mirror. The swelling's gone down for the most part, and though it's kinda off shade, the concealer had done wonder for her bruises. Gently she probes her cheek, wincing slightly.

"I still say you should've walked in their with the bruises, get her fucking arrested," Elliot mumbles.

Olivia shoots him a look of pleading. "El, please…"

He looks ahead, eyes on the wall as he works a hand along his jaw. The stubble on his chin is thickening. "You want me to come in with you or wait here?"

She leans over, brushing her lips along the right corner of his mouth. "Can you wait in the waiting area for me?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

/

Sea foam green walls greet the pair as they walk towards the nurse's desk. Olivia shuffles along, fingers locked in Elliot's. She wants to shrink away, retreat into the walls because she feels as if all eyes are on her. As if her crimes against her mother are written across her skin; as if the blood is still caked underneath her fingernails.

They reach the station and are greeted by an older woman, probably mid fifties, dressed in a purple dress uniform. She smiles as the pair walks up, her brush back tendrils of her long brown locks. Her name tag reads 'Cindy'.

"How can I help you two, today?"

Olivia bites at her bottom lip, willing away the stutter she knows her words will come out in if she doesn't think them through at least twice. "Uhm, I - my mother. I was told by the help desk that my mother was on this floor. Her name's Serena Benson…."

Cindy's eyes widen, her mouth dropping open just a bit as she shoots a curious glance between the two teens in front of her. "You're...you're…" she stutters before shaking her head. "I mean, uhm, your mom is in room 203, she's with your grandmother." Cindy points towards the hall to the left of the direction they'd come from.

"My grandmother's here?" Olivia asks, worry immediately colouring her features. She lets go of Elliot's hand and takes off. If her grandmother had driven the four hours down from Albany, Serena was dire shape.

She doesn't stop running until she gets to the hospital room, unaware of the sounds of Elliot's footsteps following behind. Her Keds slip along the linoleum and she comes to a halt screeching halt, mind spinning with worst case scenarios, and she enters the hospital room.

Almost instantaneously, a pair of arms wrap around Olivia, hugging her tightly.

"Myshka, myshka!" The voice belongs to Galina, Olivia's grandmother. "You're safe! Oh I thought I'd never see you again. Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Did he..did he…"

It takes everything in Olivia to push her grandmother away, to hold her at arm's length so that she can figure out what's going. "What are you doing here? Why - what do you mean did he hurt me? What's going on; is mom okay?" Her words jumble together, laced in confusion as they fall out her mouth.

"Olivia, myshka, it's okay you can tell me -"

Whatever Galina's getting ready to say is cut short by the sound of a struggle coming from behind them. Olivia drops her hands from her grandmother's shoulders and whips around to find two uniformed officers struggling with Elliot. One of the officers, a more portly fellow, has Elliot's right wrist in hand and is using it as leverage to bend Elliot's arms behind his back. The other officer is handing the portly cop a pair of handcuffs.

"What are you doing? Stop! Leave him alone. Stop!" Olivia implores and she rushes towards the scene, but is stopped by her grandmother. Galina wraps a hand around Olivia's wrist, trying to pull her away from the doorway, away from the scuffle. But Olivia isn't going quietly. She yanks out of her grandmother's hold and rushes back towards Elliot, who's been forced down onto his stomach and there's a knee in his back.

"Get off of him! Let him go, let him go!" Once again she demands, and once again Galina grabs her by the wrist, yanking her with much more force than previous.

"Olivia Jayne," she hisses, "let the police do their job. He hurt you and he hurt your mother. He's getting what he deserves."

The two cops hoist Elliot to his feet, and Olivia can see his lips bleeding.

"He didn't, he didn't hurt me. He didn't hurt my mother - I did. Just please stop. Please!"

But Olivia's pleas fall on deaf ears. The last she sees of Elliot before he's hauled away, back down the hall by the portly cop and his partner, is him mouthing 'I love you.'


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Yeah…sorry. The only excuse I have is that life in general got in the way along with some horrid writer's block. But I'm hopefully back on track now and my goal is to finish this piece by its two year anniversary.

If you want to yell at me, you can find my on twitter at thepaperframes. Okay, enjoy – kinda – and kill me later.

This is for Lin, for Brit, and for Jaz. Sorry it's so short.

* * *

><p>Chapter 22: Hands Tied<p>

Helpless.

It's the only emotion Olivia feels as the scene before her comes to a horrifying close. Elliot's voice fades off into the distance, and the sound of shuffling feet disappears. Galina's hold slackens, but she doesn't release her granddaughter. Instead she guides a visibly shaken Olivia away from the door and to a chair adjacent to Serena's bed.

Serena. Olivia's eyes narrow, anger flaring in the pit of her stomach. _Serena_.

"Where is she, she did this!" the anger radiates off her skin in waves and, bottom barely grazing the chair, she jumps to her feet. Galina grabs her by the shoulders to hold her steady.

"Myshka, it's been a long last two days for you, you have to calm down."

Olivia pulls away from her grandmother, her rage threatening to spill from her eyelids. "You don't know anything. You don't. I have to go talk to the cops - I have to -" her sentence hangs in mid-air, incomplete; her attention captured by the sight of her mother's hospital bed breaching the doorway; the portly cop from earlier follows closely behind Serena's nurse, and Olivia's eye's turn to slits at his presence. He was the same cop who'd put his knee in Elliot's back.

Olivia's anger at him soon turns moot though, when her eyes set on her mother. Pale and sickly looking, a cluster of butterfly stitches rest just above Serena's right eyebrow. A gasp slips from Olivia's lips and she flinches, her anger for a small moment tempered by the sight in front of her. She'd never meant to hurt her mother, ever; she'd just wanted her to stop.

But that feeling is fleeting and her own injuries come to mind; the bruise under her eye, the split lip that she's all precariously covered with a keen eye.

"What did you do?" Olivia snarls, teeth clinched. "What did you do?" She continues, demandingly.

"Olivia!" Galina snaps, grabbing her granddaughter's wrist to keep her in place, but Olivia pays her no mind.

"What did you say to them? They took Elliot - they arrested him and -"

"Good!" Serena snaps as her bed is rolled back against the wall, the nurse plugs the bed into the wall and adjusts the height.

"Good?_ Good?_" Olivia repeats indignantly. "You did this!"

"He hurt you, Olivia!" Serena hisses. She attempts to sit forward, but the nurse stops her.

"Ma'am, you have to lay flat. You have a concussion…" The nurse whispers, but as with Galina and Olivia, Serena pays the nurse no mind.

"He didn't!"

"He did. And I'm going to make sure that that doesn't happen again!"

"You're crazy!" Olivia screams, voice cracking under the weight of relentless frustration that threatened to swallow her whole. She runs her hands through her hair, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"He didn't hurt me. He didn't do anything to me, but what I wanted him to do! Tell them!" There's a pleading tone to Olivia's voice now, one she hates, and a few lone tears slip from her eyes. She bats them away with the back of her hand, wincing as she rubs the tender flesh underneath her eye.

But Serena says nothing; instead the portly cop Olivia had forgotten was even in the room up until now, speaks.

"Excuse me, ma'am, miss...I need to take her statement..." He gestures to Olivia, who stares at him, eyes narrowed.

She hates him. She hates everything about him; the way his belly protrudes over the top of slacks, the scruffy five o'clock shadow on his jaw that irks her to no end, and his green - wide set - eyes all taunt her. All she can see when she looks at him is his knee in her boyfriend's back.

"I have nothing to say to you," Olivia hisses. Once again, Galina grabs Olivia's shoulder and gently tugs her back.

"Olivia..."

"No, I don't know what my mother told you-"

Her sentence goes unfinished, her words left hanging in air as a short woman with long straight black hair enters the hospital room. She's dressed in black slacks and a grey blouse, and she approaches the portly cop first. "Is this Olivia Benson, the girl that was assaulted and taken from her mother's beach house yesterday?"

Taken. Assaulted. _Taken_?_ Assaulted_? Olivia's head all but spins around, the room moving around her and she feels dizzy. Like she's going to be sick. She's almost certain that she's going to be sick, but knows there's nothing but orange juice and toast in her stomach as is. She bolts from the room, her shoes squeaking as they slide across the sea foam green tile. Behind her Galina and Serena's collective shouts shake the air, but she keeps running, in search of a bathroom.

Finally she spots a door marked 'Family Waiting' and she pushes through it, finding it unoccupied. Her knees are weak and they give out from beneath her as she collapses into a chair. Her stomach lurches forward but the vomit doesn't come. Instead, she's buried beneath unforgiving what if's and an onslaught of worst-case scenarios in regards to the situation at hand.

Elliot's already been arrested, what if no one listens to her proclaim his innocence. What if she can't get him out of the mess she's at fault for? What if he's charged with hurting her when clearly it's the opposite? What does this mean for them, for him, for his -

"Olivia…"

Olivia lifts her head at the unfamiliar - and surprisingly soft - voice to see the woman from a few moments ago. She's propped against the doorframe, her dark eyes focused in on Olivia.

"I have nothing to say to you, officer. I really don't."

"Call me Karen, Karen Smythe. And that's fine; I just came to make sure you're alright. It's been a long couple of days for you…"

"Whatever my mother said is bullshit," Olivia hisses, all pretenses of decorum non-existent. "Nothing happened...nothing. I wasn't kidnapped - no one assaulted me."

Karen's chunky heels click clack along the linoleum as she inches her way into the room. She just nods and takes a seat next to Olivia.

"He didn't; he'd never…"

"Want to tell me why a Dolores Sampson says she saw you being dragged down the street crying then?"

Olivia sighs, her shoulders slumping forward as she recalls two days prior. There'd been a little old lady that'd stopped them somewhere along the trek to Monique's.

"That's not what happened."

"You weren't crying?"

"I wasn- I... It's not like that." Instinctively, she glances down at her hands, thinking about the fight with her mother, the blood on her hands, and the sound of bone against granite. "I left with him after -" _after I thought I'd killed my mother_, she finishes to herself.

"After?" Karen questions, "after what?"

There's a long pause on Olivia's end; one where she keeps her eyes glued to her hands that now rest atop her bare knees. She gnaws at the inside of her cheek, the fight with her mother replaying over and over again behind her eyelids. She refuses to cry - again; the last couple of days had consisted of nothing but tears.

"After I'd spent the night with Elliot…" Olivia explains, her sentence trailing off.

It doesn't take long for the detective to decipher the true meaning behind Olivia's words. Soon, she's nodding in understanding; an 'ah' sound falling from her mouth.

"I see...did he force you?" The older woman asks softly. She reaches out a hand and gently runs it over a bruise that rests on Olivia's wrist the size of Elliot's thumb, but it'd been an accident. He hadn't done it on purpose.

Olivia jerks her wrist away, folding her arms across her chest defiantly. "You don't listen, do you? He'd never hurt me!"

"Then how'd you get the bruise, Olivia? The ones on your face...makeup doesn't hide everything. Your mom ended up in the hospital - someone pushed her, Olivia. Hard." Karen points out, her tone still soft - non-accusatory - just questioning.

The tears build once more, brimming Olivia's eyelids. Without thinking, she touches her lip and then traces her cheek, and she can't look at Karen. She trains her eyes on a picture frame that rest on the wall opposite where she sits. It's of a large wave rolling onto the shore. She thinks of one of the first days she'd spent with Elliot. How they'd rolled in sand, played in the water, and openly flirting with one another. How he'd picked her up and twirled with her until they'd been interrupted by the pitter-patter of little feet on the shoreline in the form of his daughter. Maureen.

It hits Olivia then, if Elliot gets into trouble, it'll affect his daughter more than anyone. But Serena's her mother, and she can't get her into trouble. Plus, it'd mean that every one would know about Serena, about her problem, and that made it all too real.

"I pushed my mom." The words come out flat, lifeless, as she turns to look at Karen. "I did. We were arguing about Elliot and she told me to stop seeing him, so I pushed her."

Karen's brown eyes stare back at Olivia, but Olivia doesn't flinch. She doesn't know if the older woman believes her half-truth or not, but she doesn't care. She knows that she's the problem here, the common denominator for both Elliot and Serena, so she's determined to solve it for both of them.

"Olivia, if someone hurt you - you don't have to protect them. It doesn't matter _who_ it was, if they-" Karen's cut off mid sentence. A weary looking Galina appears in the doorway, her grey hair frizzy and hanging wildly from her face. Behind her, the portly cop follows.

Out of her peripheral, Olivia sees Karen raise her hand as a signal to wait a moment, "Officer Thomas, if you'd mind coming back in a few. Miss Benson and I were just talking -"

"Sorry, detective, but I just got word from the house, apparently the kid's ready to confess to everything. We can finish taking her statement at the station. Her grandmother's going to come along."

The walls around Olivia spin - again - and she's forced to take a few deep breaths to stay upright. Elliot's ready to confess. _He's confessing_.

But to what? Lies? _Her_ crimes? She can't let him do this. She can't.

"Stop him! Stop him now. He didn't - he didn't do it. Please, stop him!" Olivia pleads, panic overtaking her as she grabs onto Karen's arm, holding it tightly and begging. "I told you, I told you whatever he says he did - he didn't do it. It was me - I did it. Please make him stop. Make him stop!"

"Myshka, stop that! Stop it right now, Olivia. Olivia Jayne. Let her go. Olivia!" Galina demands, but Olivia pays her no mind. She's scared. Worried about Elliot, about her mother, and about how everything's just gone from bad, to worse.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** I know, I know, I know. It's been forever. I apologize, but this story suddenly became very difficult for me to write. Please forgive me for letting it go this long without an update and then providing you with such a short one. Hopefully the next update will be out soon and I can promise you, it'll definitely be longer.

Please enjoy. Please don't kill me. Please forgive me.

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 23: Leaving on a Jet Plane<span>

Only under the threat of possibly sedation does Olivia calm down and she lets go of Detective Smythe. Her breath slows to a lull and she blinks back rising tears. Elliot. None of this is on him. This is her mess. She hurt her mom. She ran away. He'd been an innocent bystander, an outlier caught in the midst of the chaos. One way or another, she's going to fix this mess she's made. She's going to sort things out. For him and for her mother.

And she knows exactly how.

"I need to talk to my mom. I need to talk to her now." Olivia announces, rising to her feet. She wipes at the tender flesh of her cheeks. "I can't go anywhere until I talk to her."

Galina speaks first, the old woman's voice labored, her frustration seeping through. "Myshka, we have to get you down to the police station."

"No." Olivia growls, the fight in her flaring. "I want to talk to mom."

"I think it'd be best to head down to the station first. You can talk to your mother after." Karen suggests, rising.

"No." She grates, teeth clenched. "I'm going to speak to my mother. Now." Before either woman can protest, Olivia gets to her feet. She pushes past Karen and runs into the hallway. As she goes, she sees the portly cop from earlier, the one who'd had his knee in Elliot's back, and fights the urge to curse him out. Her blood's boiling hot, so many emotions are battling inside her and she wants anyone, someone to take it out on. She pushes on, through; the cop's words on an endless replay in her thoughts.

_The kids ready to confess to everything. _But he hasn't. And she's going to make sure he doesn't.

Serena's eyes are closed when Olivia reaches her room. Doubtful of her mother's slumber, she seizes the door handle and swings the door open and then swiftly closes it behind her. For a second she waits with baited breath for her grandmother to fly in behind her, but when Galina doesn't, Olivia takes a deep breath.

"Tell the cops it was me and let Elliot go."

Serena cracks her right eye open and the stitches lining her brow crinkle. She doesn't answer her daughter.

"Don't do this to him. Please don't." Olivia pleads, hating the way her voice cracks as she begs.

"You ask me that as if I'm supposed you expect me to feel some sympathy for the boy." Serena's voice is icy, cold, and sterile.

Olivia can hear the sobriety in her tone. She's not going to budge. Drunk Serena was a nightmare, sober Serena was hell.

"Mom…Elliot didn't do this; we both know he didn't. I did. Don't ruin his life - he has a daughter!"

"So do I! A daughter he didn't mind taking advantage of, either. He will get what he deserves."

"He didn't take advantage of me! _I _asked him to sleep with - just don't do this. Don't."

"Olivia, enough!"

Frustration builds on top of the anger and Olivia balls her fists at her sides. She's sick of being dismissed today; she's tired of being ignored. By Serena, by the cops, her grandmother. No, someone is going to listen to her.

Something inside of her snaps.

"Just stop! Stop now! I slept with him. You're not going to twist that around! And you're not going to hurt him. Stop this, all of this! I'll do whatever you want! You want me to break up with him, fine. Done. Just leave him alone!"

"Who do you think you are giving me orders? _I _am _your _mother. _I _gave my life to raise you. _I-_"

"Drop the charges against Elliot, or I tell everyone just how much you like to drink."

Both of Serena's eyes fly open. She moves to sit up quickly, but is stopped by the IV in her arm and the heart monitor beeping non-stop.

"Olivia…"

"I'll tell grandma, I'll tell your work. I'll tell Detective Smythe. I'll tell her how you hit me. The bruise on my face…" she trails off, eyes locking on her mother's.

She doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want to tell the world about what happens when Serena drinks too much, and her demons come out to play. Telling the world means that Olivia she'll have to acknowledge the abuse. Acknowledging the abuse means it's real. It means that she can't hide it by spinning tales of accidental falls or rowdy door handles. It means she'll have to admit aloud to others her shame. And then there's also a small part of her that feels as if she deserves her mother's physical anger and rage because Olivia knows she's like him – like her father. She doesn't want to admit anything at all.

But for Elliot, she will.

"Don't make me do this…" Olivia whispers, her resolve threatening to break.

"And if on the off chance someone listens to you, what would you do without me? Foster care? Group homes? All over a boy who could not care less about you?"

"I don't care. I don't. I just want you to leave Elliot out of this. Let's go back to Manhattan and just forget it all. Please."

"I never thought you were this stupid, Olivia, but I suppose that's what happens when you start thinking with what's between your legs instead of your head."

A pang of rage burns Olivia's stomach and she fights the urge to scream at just how stubborn her mother is. "Fine, I'm going to go get Detective Smythe and tell her everything!"

Olivia doesn't have to go far, before she knows it, Karen is at the hospital room door. Her fist is poised to knock when Olivia rips the door open. She looks back at Serena then at Karen, knowing her mother's trying to call her on her bluff. But she's not bluffing.

"Mrs. Smythe-"

"Detective."

"Detective Smythe, when you asked me earlier did anyone hu-"

"Olivia!" Serena's voice sounds as she cuts Olivia off mid-sentence. Fire flares in the older woman's grey eyes and she lets out a long, drawn out sigh of concession. "We're going back to Manhattan, tomorrow."

It's a silent victory for Olivia as she realizes that her mother's given in instead of calling her bluff. A slight smile pulls at her cheeks, but doesn't spread out across her face. Although she's won the battle, the war has been lost; now, she has to keep up her end of the agreement: she has to break it off with Elliot.

"Olivia…" Detective Smythe repeats.

Olivia's shakes her head. "Never mind, it's nothing. My mom has something she wants to say."

The dark haired detective sighs, her eyes drop to the linoleum and then back up again. A look of empathy and pity flashes across her dark eyes and she turns her attention back towards Serena.

"Yes Ms. Benson?"

"The boy, he didn't - he has nothing to confess to - this is all one big misunderstanding. I'm sorry to waste everyone's time..."

/

Every inch of the beach house reminds her of Elliot. From the living room, where they sat and ate grilled cheese after a long swim, to the bedroom where he'd kissed her, held her tight, and slid inside of her and her heart; it all reminds her of him.

She doesn't want to leave this, or him behind. She knows she can see him again, if she so chooses. He only lives in Brooklyn. But after a long arduous process of getting the pending charges against him dropped, she knows he's better off without her. He deserves better.

Yet, she still can't shake the heartache she feels. The sinking feeling in her stomach is too strong - too powerful to be ignored. So she packs faster, not bothering to fold anything, not bothering to organize. She shoves item after item into the oversized suitcases. Books, seashells, collectibles, everything. Next she cleans up the beach house. She dumps the trash bags, tosses any leftover food in the refrigerator, and washes the dishes. Once everything's in relative order, she glances up at the clock on the wall above the stove. It reads 7:18am. Her grandmother should be picking her mother up from the hospital any minute now. And any minute now, she'll be on her way back to Manhattan. Back to the towering skyscrapers and tiny apartments. Back to overflowing traffic and sleepless nights. Back to life without Elliot.

But he's gonna be just fine without her. She knows he will. He has his daughter and his own familial mess to sort through. She'll just bring him down.

Sighing, she moves to the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen and living room and seizes the pen and notebook. In her imperfect penmanship, she scrawls a brief note, unable and unwilling to pour out any more.

_Elliot, _

_I'm sorry. _

_Please take care of yourself and your beautiful daughter. _

_Thank you for caring about me. _

_Love, _

_Olivia._

She folds the paper and writes in big bold letters ELLIOT and leaves it on the breakfast bar. She then heads over to the oversized suitcases and begins dragging them outside to her mother's car, one by one. Sand seeps into her sandals as she goes and memories of playing on the beach swirling in her head. She remembers the time Elliot had picked her up and she'd wriggled in his arms so much, that he'd dropped her right on top of him. She remembers chasing Maureen up and down the sand, the little girl's chunky legs barely able to carry her. She remembers laughing with Liz and sneering at Ethan. Most of all, she remembers finally feeling comfortable in her skin. But it's over, just like summer will shortly be, too.

Once all of the suitcases are packed and loaded and the house is spotless, she leaves her letter to Elliot trapped between the screen door and the door jamb for him to find. The wind is stagnant and stale, so she knows it won't blow away. She knows he'll be there shortly with bells on to check on her. Detective Smythe had promised his release first thing this morning. And although this isn't how she wanted to end things, she can't bear to let him go face to face. She's a coward, she knows this, but if she doesn't let him go like this, she won't be able to let him go at all.

A horn sound shakes her from her reverie and she turns to see grandmother and mother perched inside her grandmother's Honda. Taking one last look at the beach house, a few tears slip down her cheeks.

"Goodbye, Elliot Stabler. I love you." Olivia whispers into the air before turning on her heels and heading for home.


End file.
